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No.  146  Pulton  Street. 

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A   DRAMA, -IN   THREE   ACTS. 


THE 


JrooTs   Jxevenge, 


BY 


TOM   TAYLOR,  ESQ. 


TO   WHICH    ARE   ADDED 


A  Description  of  the  Costumes — Cast  of  the  Characters — Entrances  and 

Exits — Relative   Positions   of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage, 

and  the  whole  of  the  Stage  Business. 


AS   NOW   PERFORMED   AT   THE   PRINCIPAL   ENGLISH 
AND   AMERICAN   THEATRES. 


NEW  YORK: 

SCOTT    &    COMPANY, 

No.  146  Fulton  St. 


PI^EFAOE. 


This  Drama  is  in  no  sense  a  translation,  and  ought  not,  I  think,  in  fair- 
ness, to  be  called  even  an  adaptation  of  Victor  Hugo's  fine  play,  '  Le  Roi 
s'  AmuseJ 

It  originated  in  a  request  made  to  me  by  one  of  our  most  popular  actors, 
to  turn  the  libretto  of  Rigoletto  into  a  play,  as  he  wished  to  act  the  part  of 
the  jester.  On  looking  at  Victor  Hugo  s  drama,  with  this  object,  I  found 
so  much  in  it  that  seemed  to  me  inadmissible  on  our  stage — so  much, 
besides,  that  was  wanting  in  dramatic  motive  and  cohesion,  and — I  say  it 
in  all  humility — so  much  that  was  defective  in  that  central  secret  of  stage 
effect,  climax,  that  I  determined  to  take  the  situation  of  the  jester  and  his 
daughter  and  to  recast  in  my  own  way  the  incidents  in  which  their  story 
was  invested. 

The  death  of  Galeotto  Manfredi  at  the  hands  of  his  wife  Francesca  Ben- 
tivoglio  is  historical.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  atmosphere  of  a  petty 
Italian  Court  of  the  Fifteenth  Century  was  well  suited  as  a  medium  for 
presenting  the  jester's  wrongs,  his  rooted  purpose  of  revenge,  and  the  mis- 
carnage  of  that  purpose. 

I  should  not  have  thought  it  necessary  to  say  thus  much,  had  not  some 
of  the  newspaper  critics  talked  of  my  work  as  a  simple  translation  of  Victor 
Hugo's  drama,  while  others  described  it,  more  contemptuously,  as  a  mere 
rifaciamento  of  Verdi's  libretto. 

Those  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  compare  my  >vork  with  either  of  its 
alleged  originals,  will  see  that  my  play  is  neither  translation  nor  rifacia- 
mento. 

The  motives  of  Bertuccio,  the  machinery  by  which  his  revenge  is 
diverted  from  its  intended  channel,  and  the  action  in  the  court  subsequent 
to  the  carrying  off  of  his  daughter,  are  my  own,  and  I  conceive  that  these 
features  give  me  the  fullest  right  to  call  the  "  Fool's  Revenge  "  a  new 
play,  even  if  the  use  of  Victor  Hugo's  Triboulet  and  Blanche  disentitle  it 
to  the  epithet  "  originar' — which  is  matter  of  opinion. 

For  the  admirable  manner  in  which  the  drama  is  mounted  and  repre- 
sented at  Sadler's  Wells,  and  for  the  peculiarly  powerful  impersonation 
of  Bertuccio,  I  owe  all  gratitude  to  Mr.  Phelps.  I  must  extend  that  feel- 
ing also  to  Miss  Heath,  Miss  Atkinson,  and  the  rest  of  the  Sadler's  Wells 
Company  engaged  in  the  representation  of  the  "  Fool's  Revenge." 

TOM  TAYLOR. 
Lavender  Sweep,  Wandsworth, 
October ,  1859. 

434519 


CAST    OF    CHARACTERS. 


Sadler's  Wells  Theatre^  Niblo's  Garden^ 

London^  1859.  New  Yorky  1864. 

Beriuccio,  the  Duke's  Jester _  Mr.  Phelps Edwin  Booth. 

Galeotto  Manfredi,  Lord  of  Faenza Mr.  H.  Marston J.  Nunan. 

Guido  Malatesta,  an  old  Condotiere Mr.  Meagreson E.  B.  Holmes. 

Serafino  DelV  Aquila,   Poet    and    Im- 

provisatore Mr.  F.  Robinson  _  .J.  W.  Collier. 

Baldassare  Torelli,         )    ,_  ,        (  ...Mr.  Belford B.  T.  Ringgold. 

'    Nobles    ^  * 


Gian  Maria  Ordelaffi,    )  (  ...Mr.  T.  C.  Harris.. J.  W.  Blaisdell. 

Bernardo  Ascolti,  a  Florentine  Envoy  .Mr.  C.  Seyton C.  De  Forrest. 

Ascanio,  a  Page Miss  C.  Hill Miss  Everett. 

Francesca  Bentivoglio,    wife   of    Man- 

fredi Miss  Atkinson Miss  Ada  Clifton. 

Fiordelisa,  daughter  of  Bertuccio Miss  Heath Miss  Rose  Ey tinge. 

Brigittay  Bertuccio's  Servant. Miss  H.  Marston  _ . Miss  Mary  Wells. 

Ginevray  wife  of  Malatesta Miss  C.  Parkes Mrs.  Reeves. 

Time— 1488.         Place— Faenza. 


COSTUMES. 


At  Sadler'' s  Wells  the  costume  and  scenery  of  this  play  were  appropriate  to  the 
period  of  Francis  the  First,  which  is  some  years  later  than  the  actual  date  of  Manf  redi's 
murder.  This  departure  from  strict  chronology  is  unobjectionable,  when,  as  at  Sad- 
ler''s  Wells y  strict  consistency  is  maintained  in  the  dresses,  architecture  and  decoration 
of  the  piece. 

In-  strict  propriety,  the  costume  of  the  Duke  and  nobles  should  consist  of  short, 
brightly  colored  jerkins,  reaching  just  below  the  waist,  with  rather  full  sleeves, 
slashed,  and  confined  at  the  wrists,  embroidered  belts  round  the  waist,  colored  tight 
hose,  often  worn  of  a  different  color  in  the  two  legs,  and  velvet  shoes.  Short  mantles 
maybe  worn  by  the  young  nobles.  Ascoltt,  Malatesta  and 'the  elder  g^uests  may,  with 
propriety,  wear  long  velvet  or  silk  gowns  of  purple,  crimson  or  other  rich  colors,  with 
borders  of  fur.  The  hair  should  be  worn  full  and  long,  in  the  style  familar  to  us  from 
Raphael's  earlier  pictures.  The  head-dress  of  the  younger  men  is  a  small  colored  velvet 
cap  with  a  raised  edge,  often  scalloped,  and  ornamented  with  a  chain  and  medal. 

The  Fooly  of  course,  wears  a  motley  suit  with  a  hood  like  that  worn  by  Shakespeare's 
fools.  His  second  dress  should  be  a  long  gown  of  sober  color.  Fiordelisa's  dress 
should  be  white,  or  dove  colored,  with  scalloped  sleeves  and  a  tight  body.  The  Duchess'' s 
costume,  of  the  same  cut,  should  be  of  velvet,  slashed,  and  embroidered  with  gold.  She 
may  wear  a  gold  net;  a  silk  or  chenille  net  would  also  be  appropriate  to  Fiordelisa. 


THE  FOOL'S  REVENGE, 


ACT    I. 

Scene  I. — The  Stage  represents  a  Loggia  opening  on  the  Gardens  of 
Manfredi's  Palace;  a  low  terrace  at  the  back^  and  beyond  a 
view  of  the  city  and  country  adjacent.  Moonlight.  The  Gar- 
dens and  Loggia  illuminated  for  a  festa. 

Nobles  aiid  Ladies  discovered  r.  and  c,  a7id  moving  through  the 
Gardens  and  Loggia.  Music  at  a  distance.  Torelli  and 
Ordelaffi  discovered.     Enter  Ascolti,  l. 

Tor.     Messer  Bernardo,  you  shall  judge  between  us — 
Is  Ordelaffi's  here,  a  feasting  face  ? 
I  say,  'tis  fitter  for  a  funeral. 

Asc.     An  Ordelaffi  scarce  can  love  the  feast 
That  greets  Octavian  Riario, 
Lord  of  Forli  and  Imola. 

Ord.     Because  our  line  were  masters  there  of  old, 
Till  they  were  fools  encfugh  to  get  pulled  down! 
I  was  born  to  no  lordship  but  my  sword. 
Thanks  to  my  stout  black  bands,  I  look  to  win* 
New  titles,  and  so  grieve  not  over  lost  ones. 
My  glove  upon 't'     I  '11  prove  a  lighter  dancer, 
A  lustier  wooer,  and  a  deeper  drinker, 
Than  e'er  a  landed  lordling  of  you  al  . 
Is  it  a  wager  ? 

QtYi^YN^K  passes  with  Manfredi/^^/^  l.  to  r.     Malatesta  appears 
L.,  watching  them. 

Tor.     My  hand  to  that!     There 's  Malatesta's  wife, 
The  fair  Ginevra.     Let 's  try  lucks  with  her. 


6  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  1. 

Asc.     Ware  hawk!     Grey  Guide's  an  old-fashioned  husband; 
Look  how  he  glares  upon  the  Lord  Manfredi. 
Each  of  his  soft  words  to  the  fair  Ginevra's 
A  dagger  in  the  old  fool's  heart. 

Ord.     Sublime!  ripe  sixty  wedded  to  sixteen, 
And  thinks  to  shut  the  foxes  from  his  grapes! 

Tor.     The  Duke,  too,  for  his  rival!     Poor  old  man! 

Asc.     Let  the  duke  look  to  it.     Ginevra's  smiles 
May  breed  him  worse  foes  than  Count  Malatesta. 
{Whispering.)     The  Duchess! 

Tor.     Faith,  'tis  ill  rousing  Bentivoglio  blood. 

Ord.     And  she 's  as  jealous  as  her  own  pet  greyhound. 

Tor.     And  sharper  in  the  teeth.     I  wonder  much 
She  leaves  Faenza,  knowing  her  Manfredi 
So  general  a  lover. 

Asc.     She  leaves  Faenza? 

Tor.  So  they  say  to-morrow 

Rides  to  Bologna  to  her  grim  old  father, 
Giovanni  Bentivoglio. 

Asc.  To  complain 

Of  her  hot-blooded  husband  ? 

Tor.  Nay,  I  know  not — 

Enough,  she  goes,  and — fair  dame  as  she  is — 
A  murrain  go  with  her,  say  I.     There  never 
Was  good  time  in  Faenza,  since  she  came 
To  spoil  sport  with  her  jealousy.     Manfredi 
Will  be  himself  again  when  she  is  hence. 

Asc.     Hush!  here  she  comes 

Ord.  '  With  that  misshapen  imp, 

Bertuccio.     Gibing  devil!     I  shall  thrust 
My  dagger  down  his  throat,  one  of  these  days! 

Tor.     Call  him  a  jester — he  laughs  vitriol! 

Asc.     Spares  nothing;  cracks  his  random  scurril  quips 
Upon  my  master — great  Lorenzo's  self. 

Ord.     Do  the  knave  justice,  he 's  a  king  of  tongue-fence; 
Not  ?.  weak  joint  in  all  our  armors  round, 
But  he  knows,  and  can  hit.     Confound  the  rogue! 
I  'm  blistered  still  from  a  word-basting  he 
Gave  me  but  yesterday.     Would  we  were  quits! 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  7 

Tor.     Wait !     I  've  a  rod  in  pickle  that  shall  flay 
The  tough  hide  off  his  hump.     A  rare  revenge ! 
Asc.     They  're  here — avoid  ! 

AscoLTi,  Ordelaffi,  tf^^ToRELLi  retire  up  c,  and  mingle  with  the 

Guests. 

Enter  Francesca  ^;2^  Bertuccio,  fi.^  followed  by  her  two  Women. 

Fran.     {^Looking  off,  as  if  watching,   and  to  herself.)     Still  with 
her!  changing  hot  plans  and  long  looks! 
Her's  for  the  dance — her's  at  the  feast — All  her'sl 
Nothing  for  me  but  shallow  courtesies, 
And  hollow  coin  of  compliment  that  leaves 
The  craving  heart  as  empty  as  a  beggar 
Bemocked  with  counters! 

Ber.    {Counting  on  his  fingers  and  looking  at  the  moon.)     Moon 
— Manf  redi — moon ! 

Fran.     Ha,  knave! 

Ber.  By  your  leave,  Monna  Cecca,  I  am  ciphering. 

Fran.     Some  fool's  sum? 

Ber.  Yes,  running  your  husband's  changes 

Against  the  moon's.     Manfredi  has  it  hollow. 
It  comes  out  ten  new  loves  'gainst  five  new  moons! 

Fran.     Where  do  I  stand  ? 

Ber.     First  among  the  ten;  your  moon  was  a  whole  honey  one. 
Excluding  that,  it's  nine  loves  to  four  moons. 

Fran.     You  pity  me,  Bertuccio  ? 

Ber.  Not  a  whit. 

I  pity  sparrows,  but  not  sparrow-hawks. 

Fran.     I  read  your  riddle.     I  am  strong  enough 
To  right  my  own  wrongs !     So  I  am,  while  here. 

Ber.     Then  stay ' 

Fran.  My  father  at  Bologna  looks  for  me. 

Ber.     Then  go! 

Fran.     And  leave  him  here — with  her — both  free, 
And  not  a  friend  that  I  can  trust  to  watch 
And  give  me  due  report  how  things  go  'twixt  them. 
Had  I  one  friend 

Ber.  You  have  Bertuccio. 


8  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  I, 

l^ran.  Men  call  you  faithless,  bitter,  loving  wrong 
For  wrong's  sake,  Duke  Manfredi's  worst  counsellor, 
Still  prompting  him  to  evil. 

Ber.  How  folks  flatter ' 

Fran.     How,  then,  am  I  to  trust  you? 

Ber.  Monna  Cecca, 

You  know  the  wild  beasts  that  your  husband  keeps 
Down  in  the  castle  fosse  ?     There 's  a  she-leopard 
I  lie  and  gaze  at  by  the  hour  together; 
So  sleek,  so  graceful,  and  so  dangerous  ' 
I  long  to  see  her  let  loose  on  a  man. 
Trust  me  to  draw  the  bolt,  and  loose  my  leopard. 

Fran.     I  '11  trust  your  love  of  mischief,  not  of  me. 

Ber,     That's  safest! 

Fran.  1  must  know  how  fares  this  fancy 

Of  Duke  Manfredi  for  yon  pale  Ginevra — 
Mark  him  and  her — their  meetings — communings; 
I  know  you  're  private  with  my  lord. 

Ber.     (  With  a  dry  chuckle)     He  trusts  me  ! 

Fran.     Here  !  take  my  ring:  your  letters  sealed  with  this, 
My  page  Ascanio  will  bring  me  straight; 
'Tis  but  three  hours'  hard  ridmg — and  m  six 
I  'm  here  again,     Mark  !  write  not  on  suspicion. 
Let  evil  thought  ripen  to  evil  act, 
That  in  the  full  flush  of  their  guilty  joys 
I  may  strike  sudden  and  strike  home. 
No  Bentivoglio  pardons. 

Ber.  Have  a  care  ! 

Faenza  is  Manfredi's  !    These  court-flies  (Pointing  to  the  Guests), 
Who  flutter  in  the  sunshine  of  his  favor, 
Havestmgs:  the  puddmg-headed  citizens 
Love  his  free  ways:  he  leaves  their  wives  alone — 
You  play  your  own  head,  touching  his. 

Fran.     Give  me  my  vengeance.     Then  come  what  come  may. 
Enough — I  am  resolved.     Now  for  the  dance  ! 
They  shall  not  see  a  cloud  upon  my  brow. 
Though  my  heart  ache  and  burn.     I  can  smile,  too, 
On  him  and  her — Bertuccio,  remember ! 

\Exit  Y'SiK'HiQ^^Qhy  followed  by  her  VJoyiEi<i,  R. 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  g 

Ber,  (Looking  at  the  ring)     A  blood-stone — apt  reminder! 

Does  she  think 
That  none  but  she  have  wrongs  ?     That  none  but  she 
Mean  to  revenge  them  ?     What  ?     "  No  Bentivoglio 
Pardons."     There  is  a  certain  vile  Bertuccio, 
A  twisted,  withered,  hunch-backed  court  buffoon— 
A  thing  to  make  mirth,  and  to  be  made  mirth  of— 
A  something  betwixt  ape  and  man,  that  claims 
To  run  in  couples  with  your  ladyship. 
You  hunt  Manfredi — I  hunt  Malatesta — 
Let 's  try  which  of  the  two  has  sharper  fangs ! 

Manfredi  and  Ginevra  appear  in  the  background,  r. 
The  Duke  and  Malatesta's  wife !  {He  retires  up,) 

Manfredi   and   Ginevra    come  forward,    Malatesta   watching 

them,  L. 

Man.     Not  yet !— but  one  more  round  !     The  feast  is  blank 
For  me  when  you  are  gone.     The  flowers  lack  perfume. 
Missing  your  fragrant  breath.     The  music  sounds 
Harsh  and  untunablej*when  your  sweet  voice 
Makes  no  more  under  melody.     Oh,  stay  ! 

Gin.     I  am  summoned,  sir— my  husband  waits  for  me. 

Man.     What  spoil-sports  are  these  husbands  (aside)  and  these 
wives! 
Per  Bacco!     I  could  wish  Count  Malatesta 
Would  lend  my  duchess  escort  to  Bologna, 
So  we  were  both  well  rid.  (Malatesta  beckons  to  Ginevra.) 

^^^-  Your  pardon,  sir. 

My  husband  beckons.     It  is  I,  not  you, 
Must  bear  his  moods  to-night — I  dare  not  stay. 

Man.     I  would  not  bring  a  cloud  to  your  fair  brow 
For  all  Faenza.     Fare  you  well,  sweet  lady  ! 

{He  leads  her  to  Malatesta.} 
I  render  up  your  jewel,  Malatesta; 
See  that  you  guard  it  as  befits  its  price. 

Mai.     Trust  me  for  that,  my  lord. 

Man.  (To  Ginevra.)  Sweet  dreams  wait  on  you. 


lO  THE    fool's   revenge.  [AcT  I. 

Mai.  (Aside.)     This  night  sees  /ler  safe  past  Faenza's  walls; 
She's  too  fair  for  this  liquorish  court  of  ours. 

[Exeunt  Malatesta  and  Ginevra,  l. 

Man.     A  peerless  lady! 

Ber.  (Coining  forward.)     And  a  churlish  spouse! 

Man.     Bertuccio! 

JBer.  "At  your  elbow,  sir !"  quoth  S.atanus. 

Man.     Come,  fool,  let's  rail  at  husbands. 

Ber.  Shall  T  call 

Your  wife  to  help  us  ? 

Man.  Out  on  thee,  screech-owl! 

Just  when  I  felt  my  chains  about  to  fall 
Thou  mind'st  me  of  my  jailor.     Thank  the  saints, 
I  shall  be  free  to-morrow,  for  awhile — 
I'm  thirsty  to  employ  my  liberty. 

Come,  my  familiar,  help  me  to  some  mischief —  • 

Some  pleasant  deviltry,  with  just  the  spice 
Of  sin  to  make  the  enjoyment  exquisite! 

Ber,     Let's  see! — throat-cutting's  pleasant — but  that's  stale; 
Plotting  has  savor  in  it — but  'tis  too  tedious; 
Say,  a  campaign  with  Ordelaffi's  band, 
So  you  may  feed  all  the  seven  sins  at  omst  ? 

Man.     Out,  barren  hound  !  thy  wits  are  growing  dull. 

Ber.     A  man  can't  always  be  finding  out  new  sins; 
Think  they're  as  hard  to  hit  on  as  new  pleasures. 
My  head  on't  Alexander  had  not  run 
So  wide  a  round  of  pleasures,  as  you  of  sins; 
And  yet  he  offered  kingdoms  for  a  new  one. 
You  must  invoke  Asmodeus,  not  Beelzebub. 

Man.     What's  he? 

Ber.  The  devil  specially  charged  with  love; 

He  has  more  work  to  do  than  all  the  infernal  legion. 
There's  Malatesta's  wife — she's  young  and  fair, 
And  good,  they  say;  rare  matter  for  sin  there, 
Though  'tis  the  oldest  of  them  all. 

Man.  But  show  me 

How  to  win  her/     She's  cold  as  she  is  fair; 
I  have  spent  enough  sweet  speech  to  have  softened  stone, 
And  all  in  vain. 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.'  ii 

Ber.  The  monks  say  Hannibal 

Melted  the  rocks  with  vinegar — not  sugar. 

Man.     But  she  is  adamant ! 

Ber.  When  all  else  fails 

You  Ve  still  force  to  fall  back  on.     Carry  her  off 
From  under  Guido's  grizzled  beard. 

^(^n.  By  Bacchus, 

There  *s  metal  in  thy  counsel,  knave  !  I  '11  think  on 't. 

Ber.     It  needs  no  brains  neither — only  strong  hands 
And  hard  hearts.     Here  come  both. 

Enter  Torelli,  Ascolti,  a7id  Ordelaffi,  c. 

Man.     What  say  you,  gentlemen;  may  I  trust  your  arms? 

Tor.  .  They  're  yours  in  any  quarrel. 

^^^'  So  are  mine  ! 

^^^-  And  mine! 

Ber.     One  at  a  time.     You  said  "«rwj-/"— Of  Torelli 
You  should  ask  /egs/     His  did  such  famous  service 
In  carrying  him  out  of  danger  at  Sar^ana, 
I  think  they  may  be  trusted.  {A//  laugh  except  Torelli.) 

^^^'   .  Scurril  knave  ! 

But  I  '11  be  even  with  thee. 

Ber.     That  were  pity. 
A  hump  would  be  a  sore  disfigurement 
Upon  a  back  that  you  're  so  fond  of  showing ! 

Asc.     This  rogue  needs  gagging. 

Ber.  {To  h.<^Q,)  What,  for  speaking  truth.? 

I  cry  you  mercy — I  forgot  how  ugly 

It  must  sound  to  a  Florentine  Ambassador 

Man.     Well  thrust,  Bertuccio  ! 

Ord.  {Angrily)                            My  lord— my  lord  ! 
The  slave  is  paid  to  find  us  wit 

Ber.  {Interrupti?tg.)  Hold  there. 

No  man  is  bound  to  impossibilities — 
'Tis  a  known  maxim  of  the  Roman  law ; 

How  then  can  I  find  wit  for  Ordelaffi  ?     {All  laugh  at  but  Ord.) 
But  look— there's  Serafino— big  with  a  sonnet  : 
I  must  help  him  to  reason  for  his  rhymes 

Man.     Stay ! 


12 


THE  fool's  revenge.  [AcT  I. 


Ber.  Not  I!     You  're  for  finding  out  new  sins ; 

With  three  such  counsellors,  I  am  superfluous. 
(Aside.)  The  evil  seed  is  sown — 'twill  grow — 'twill  grow. 

[£xi^  Bertuccio. 

Tor.     Toad  ! 

Asc.  Foul-mouthed  scoffer! 

Ord.  Warped  in  wit  and  limb  ! 

Asc.     My  lord,  you  give  your  monkey  too  much  rope. 
He  '11  soon  forget  all  tricks  in  the  scurvy  one 
Of  making  his  grinders  meet  in  our  soft  parts. 

Man.     Nay,  give  the  devil  his  due ;  if  he  hits  hard, 
He  hits  impartially.     I  take  my  share 
Of  buffets  with  the  rest.     Best  cure  the  smart 
By  laughing  at  your  neighbor  that  smarts  worse  ; 
But  about  this  business,  where  your  arms  may  help  me. 

Asc.     Is  it  an  enemy  to  be  silenced  ? 

Ord.  '  A  castle 

To  be  surprised  }     A  merchant  to  be  squeezed  ? 

Asc.     Or  aught  in  which  ducats,  or  brains,  of  Florence 
Can  help  } 

Man.  No.     Who  was  queen  of  the  feast  to-night. 

In  your  skilled  judgment,  Messer  Gian  Maria? 

Ord.     I  ought  to  say  your  duchess,  fair  Francesca;  ^ 

But,  if  another  tongue  had  asked  the  question 

Man.     Speak  out  thy  honest  judgment  ! 

Ord.  Not  a  lady 

In  all  Faenza  's  worthy  to  compare 
With  proud  Ginevra  Malatesta! 

Tor.     I  think  Iknow  a  fairer — but  no  matter ! 

Man.     I  hold  with  Ordelaffi.     I  have  mounted 
Ginevra's  colors  in  my  cap,  and  heart; 
But  she  's  too  proud,  or  fearful  of  old  Guido, 
To  smile  upon  my  suit.     'Tis  the  first  time 
I  've  found  so  coy  a  dame. 

Asc.  Trust  one  who  knows  them — 

The  coyest  are  not  always  chastest. 

Ma?i.     How  say  you,  if  I  spared  her  shame  of  yielding 
By  a  night  escalade  ? 

Ord.  (Shaking  his  head.)     Carry  her  off  ? 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge. 

A  Malatesta  ?     Were  it  an  enemy's  town 


13 


Man.     Hear  him!— how  modestly  he  talks!     Why,  man, 
Since  when  shrank'st  thou  from  climbing  balconies. 
And  forcing  doors  without  an  invitation  ? 

Ord.     Oh,  citizens,  I  grant  you— but  a  noble's — 
One  of  ourselves 

Asc.  Remember,  Malatesta 

Is  cousin  to  the  old  lord  of  Cesena; — 
The  affair  might  breed  a  feud,  and  so  let  in 
The  sly  Venetian. 

Tor.  Be  advised,  my  lord; 

If  you  must  breathe  your  new-fledged  liberty. 
Try  safer  game!     Old  Malatesta's  horns 
Might  prove  too  sharp  for  pastime! 

^<^«-  Out,  you  faint  hearts, 

Do  you  fall  off  ?     Then,  by  St.  Francis'  bones, 
I  and  Bertuccio  will  adventure  it. 

Tor.     Bertuccio!     My  jewel  to  his  hump, 
Twas  he  put  this  mad  frolic  in  your  head. 

Ma7i.     And  if  it  were  ?     At  least  he  '11  stand  by  me. 
Perchance  his  wits  may  be  worth  all  your  brawn. 

Asc.     Here  comes  one  who  may  claim  to  be  consulted 
Upon  this  business. 

Enter  Malatesta,  l. 

Man.     {Disconcerted)  Guido  Malatesta! 

Why,  how  now.  Count  ?     You  left  our  feast  so  soon, 
I  thought  you  warm  i'  the  sheets  this  good  half-hour. 

Mai.     I  had  forgot  my  duty  to  your  lordship; 
So  now  repair  my  lack  of  courtesy — 
To-morrow  I  purpose  riding  to  Cesena, 
And  would  not  go  without  due  leave-taking. 

Man.     {Aside.)     This  jumps  well  with  my  project. 
(Aloud.)     What,  to-morrow! 
You  ride  alone  ? 

Mai.  No,  with  my  wife. 

Man.     {Aside.)  The  devil! 

(Aloud.)     Why,  this  is  sudden — she  spoke  no  word  of  this 
To-night! 


14  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  I. 

Mai.     Tush!  women  know  not  their  own  minds. 
How  should  they  know  their  husband's  ? 

Man.  But  your  reason? 

Mai.     Your  air  here  in  Faenza  is  too  warm; 
And  scarce  so  pure  as  fits  my  wife's  complexion; 
She'll  be  better  in  my  castle  at  Cesena; 
The  walls  are  five  feet  thick,  and  from  the  platform 
There 's  a  rare  view.     She  '11  need  no  exercise. 

Man.    {Aside.)    The  gaoler!    (Aloud.)  But  what  says  the  lady's 
will? 

Mai.     I  never  ask  that;  and  so  escape  all  risk 
Of  finding  it  run  counter  to  my  own. 

Man.     Faenza  will  have  great  miss  of  you  both. 

Mai.     Oh,  fear  not — I  '11  return;  your  wine 's  too  good 
To  be  left  lightly.     I  '11  be  back  to-morrow, 
Before  the  gates  are  shut.     Meanwhile  accept 
This  leave-taking  by  proxy  from  my  wife. 

Man.     Not  so;  I  must  exchange  farewell  with  her 
To-morrow. 

Mai.     We  shall  start  an  hour  ere  dawn; 
You  '11  scarce  be  stirring. 

Man.     (Aside.)  Plague  upon  the  churl! 

He  meets  me  at  all  points.     (Aloud.)  At  least,  I  hope, 
This  absence  of  your  wife  will  not  be  long; 
My  duchess  cannot  spare  her.     (Aside.)  Saints  forgive  me! 

Mai.     When  your  fair  lady  wants  her,  she  can  send : 
I  *11  answer  for  her  coming  on  that  summons. 
Good  night,  sweet  lords.     (Aside.)  How  crestfallen  he  looks! 
Mass!  'tis  ill  cozening  an  old  condottiere! 
Did  he  think  I  had  forgot  to  guard  my  baggage  ?  [Exit, 

Man.     A  murrain  go  with  him!     May  the  horse  stumble 
That  carries  him,  and  break  his  old  bull-neck! 
Oh,  this  is  cruel — with  my  hand  stretched  out, 
To  have  to  draw 't  back  empty.     I  could  curse! 

Tor.     What  if  I  helped  you  to  a  substitute 
For  coy  Ginevra  ?  passing  her  in  beauty — 
One,  too,  whose  conquest  puts  no  crown  to  risk, 
And  helps  withal  a  notable  requital 
That  we  all  owe  Bertuccio,  you  included. 


Scene  i.]         the  fool's  revenge.  j,- 

Man,     What  mean  you  ? 

■^''-  Guess  what's  happened  to  Bertuccio. 

Ord.     He 's  grown  good-natured  ? 

^"^^-  Or  has  dropped  his  hump  ? 

Man.  He  has  found  a  monkey  uglier  than  himself? 
Tor.     No,  something  stranger  than  all  these  would  be, 
If  they  had  happened;— he  has  found  a  mistress! 

{^ii  burst  out  laughing.  > 

Man.     My  lady's  pet  baboon?  Bertuccio 
Graced  with  a  mistress?  (^,  ^^^^^^^ 

^^^'  She  is  blind,  of  course  ? 

Ord     And  has  a  hump,  I  hope,  to  match  his  own  ? 
What  a  rare  breed  'twill  be— of  two-humped  babes, 
Like  Bactrian  camels! 

Man.     Bertuccio  with  a  mistress !— why  the  rogue 
Ne'er  yet  made  joke  so  monstrous,  or  so  pleasant ! 

rp         y         ^  i^^O' ^augh  again.) 

lor.     l^augh  as  you  please,  sirs— on  my  knightly  faith, 

He  has  a  mistress— and  a  rare  one,  too ! 

Nay,  if  you  doubt  my  word Here  comes  Dell' Aquila— 

He  knows  as  well  as  I. 
^««-  We  '11  question  him. 

Enter  Serafino  Dell'  Aquila,  c. 
Man.     Good  even  to  my  poet— you  walk  late! 
Aqu.     (^Pointing  to  the  moon.)     I  tend  my  mistress:  poets  and 
lunatics. 
You  know,  are  her  liege  subjects. 

^^^-  They  are  happy  ! 

Aqu.     Why? 

Man.  They  have  a  new  mistress  every  month, 

And  each  month's  mistress  no  two  nights  alike. 
But  jesters  can  find  mistresses,  it  seems. 
As  well  as  poets.     There 's  Torelli  swears 
Bertuccio  has  one,  and  that  you  know  it. 

Aqu.     I  know  he  has  a  rare  maid  close  mewed  up, 
But  whether  wife  or  daughter  ■ 

^^^^-  Tell  not  me  ! 

A  mistress  for  a  thousand  !     But  what  of  her? 


i6  THE  fool's  revenge.  '[Act  I. 

How  did  you  find  her  out? 

A(/u.  'Twas  some  weeks  since, 

Attending  vespers  in  your  house's  chapel, 
At  San  Costanza,  I  beheld  a  maiden 
Kneeling  before  that  picture  of  our  lady, 
By  Fra  Filippo — oh,  so  fair — so  rapt 
In  her  pure,  passionate  prayers — I  tell  you,  sirs, 
I  was  nigh  going  on  my  knees  beside  her, 
And  asking  for  an  interest  in  her  orisons: 
Such  eyes  of  softest  blue,  crowned  with  such  wreaths 
Of  glossy  chestnut  hair — a  cheek  of  snow 
Flushed  tenderly,  as  when  the  sunlight  strikes 
Upon  an  evening  alp,  and  over  all, 
A  grace  of  maiden  modesty  that  lay 
More  still  and  snowy  round  her  th^n  the  folds 
Of  her  white  veil.     And  when  she  rose  I  rose 
And  followed  her,  like  one  drawn  by  a  charm. 
To  a  mean  house,  where  entering,  she  was  lost. 

Man.     She  was  alone  ? 

A^u.  Only  a  shrewish  servant 

That  saw  her  to  the  church,  and  saw  her  home. 

Man.     A  most  weak  wolf-dog  for  so  choice  a  lamb! 

A^u.  Methought,  my  lord,  she  needed  no  more  guard 
Than  the  innocence  that  sat,  dove-like,  in  her  eyes, 
That  shaped  the  folding  of  her  delicate  hands, 
And  timed  the  movement  of  her  gentle  feet. 

Man.     You  spoke  to  her? 

A^u.     I  dared  not;  some  strange  shame 
Put  weight  upon  my  tongue.     I  only  watched  her, 
And  sometimes  heard  her  sing.     That  was  enough. 

Man.     Poets  are  easy  satisfied.     Well — you  watched  ? 

A^u.     And  then  I  fou^d  that  I  was  not  alone 
Upon  my  nightly  post:  there  were  two  more; 
One  staid  outside,  like  me,  and  one  went  in. 

Tor.     True  to  the  letter!     I  was  the  outsider; 
The  third,  and  luckiest,  was  Bertuccio! 

Man.     The  hump-backed  hypocrite  ! 

Ord.  The  owl  that  screeched 

The  loudest  against  women! 


17 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge. 

^sc.  But  is 't  certain 

That  'twas  Bertuccio  ? 

Tor.  I  can  swear  to  that! 

A^u.     And  I! 

Asc.     How  do  you  know  him  ? 
Tor.  By  his  hump — 

His  gait — who  could  mistake  that  crab-like  walk  ? 
I  could  have  knocked  my  head  against  the  wall 
To  think  I  had  been  fool  enough  to  trust 
A  woman's  looks  for  once: — Dell'  Aquila, 
I  know,  holds  other  faith  about  the  sex. 

A^u.     I  would  stake  life  upon  her  purity; 
Yet,  'tis  past  doubt  Bertuccio  is  the  man, 
The  ugly  gaoler  of  this  prisoned  bird. 

Man.     Why  that 's  enough  to  make  it  a  mere  duty 
To  break  her  prison-house,  and  shift  her  keeping 
To  fitter  hands— say  mine.     I'm  lord  of  the  town; 
None  else  has  right  of  prison  here,  but  I. 

A^u.     What  would  you  do  ? 

Man.  First  see  if  she  bears  out 

Your  picture,  Serafino— if  she  do. 
Be  sure  I  will  not  wait  outside  to  mark 
Her  shadow.     Shadows  may  suit  poets — I  ^ 

Want  substance. 

Tor.  She 's  meat  for  Bertuccio's  master, 

Not  for  Bertuccio.     When  shall  it  be  ? 

^an.  To-morrow 

I'm  a  free  man!     Meet  me  at  midnight,  here. 

A^u.     You  would  not  harm  her  ?     Only  see  her  face. 
You  will  not  have  the  heart  to  do  her  wrong. 

Man.  ^  What  call  you  "  wrong?"    To  save  so  choice  a  creature, 
From  such  a  guardian  as  Bertuccio  ? 
He  would  have  prompted  me  to  play  the  robber 
Of  Malatesta's  pearl:— let  him  guard  his  own! 

Ord.     If  he  resists,  we'll  knock  him  over  the  sconce; 
Let  me  have  f/ia^  part  of  the  business. 

Man.     Nay,  I  'd  not  have  the  rascal  harmed;— he 's  bitter. 
But  shrewdly  witty,  and  he  makes  me  laugh. 
No.  spare  me  my  buffoon;  who  does  him  harm, 


1 8  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  I. 

Shall  answer  it  to  me. 

Tor.     'Twere  a  rare  plot  to  make  thfe  knave  believe 
Our  scheme  still  held  against  old  Malatesta — 
That  his  Ginevra  was  the  game  we  followed. 

Ord.     So  give  him  a  rendezvous  a  mile  away; 
And,  while  he  waits  our  coming,  to  break  open 
The  mew  where  he  keeps  close  his  tercel  gentle. 

Asc.  {Aside  to  Manfredi.)     Ne'er  trust  a  poet.     What  if  he 
betrayed  us  ? 

Man.     He 's  truth  itself;  and  where  he  gives  his  faith, 
'Tis  better  than  a  bond  of  your  Lorenzo's. 

Asc,     Swear  him  to  secrecy. 

Man.  (To  Dell'  Aquila.)     Your  hand  upon  it. 
You  '11  not  spoil  our  sport  by  breaking  to  Bertuccia 
What  we  intend  ? 

Aqu.  But  think,  oh,  think,  my  lord, 

What  if  this  were  no  mistress — as — if  looks 
Have  privilege  to  reveal  the  soul — she  is  none ! 

Man.     Mistress  or  maid,  man,  I  will  not  be  balked; 
*Tis  for  her  good;  I  know  the  sex — she  pines 
In  her  captivity;  I'll  find  a  cage 
More  fitting  such  a  bird  as  you  've  described. 
Your  hand  on 't — not  a  whisper  to  Bertuccio  ! 

Aqu.     You  force  me  !     There 's  my  hand  !     I  will  not  speak 
A  word  to  him  ! 

Man.  ( Taking  his  hand)     That 's  like  a  trusty  liegeman 
Of  blind  Lord  Cupid  !     Hark — a  word  with  you  ! 

(Manfredi  ajid  Lords  talk  apart,  c.) 

Aqu.     I  '11  save  her  from  this  wrong,  or  lose  myself. 
What  tie  there  is  betwixt  these  two  I  know  not. 
How  one  so  fair  and  seeming  gentle 's  linked  * 

With  one  so  foul  and  bitter — a  buffoon, 
Who  makes  his  vile  office  viler  still. 
By  prompting  to  the  evil  that  he  mocks ! 
But  I  will  'gage  my  life  that  she  is  pure. 
And  still  shall  be  so,  if  my  aid  avail ! 

(Manfredi  and  Lords  separate^ 
Once  more,  my  lord — you  '11  not  be  stayed  from  this 
That  you  propose  ? 


Scene  l]  the  fool's  revenge. 


19 


Man.  Unconscionable  bard! 

What — when  you  've  set  my  mouth  a  watering 
You  'd  have  me  put  the  dainty  morsel  from  me! 
Go,  feed  on  sighs  and  shadows— such  thin  stuff 
Is  the  best  diet  for  you  singing  birds  ; 
We  eagles  must  have  flesh  ! 

Aqu.     {To  All.)  Good  night,  my  lords! 

(Aside)     Keep  to  your  carrion,  kites  !     She 's  not  iQv  you. 

[Exit  Aquila, 
Man.     But  how  to  get  sight  of  Bertuccio's  jewel  !— 
I  'd  see,  before  I  'd  snatch  ! 

^^^'  Trust  me  for  that ! 

I  am  no  poet :     When  I  found  the  damsel 
Admitted  such  a  gallant  as  Bertuccio, 
I  thought  it  time  to  press  my  suit— and  so 

Accosted  her  on  her  way  from  San  Costanza 

Man,     She  listened  ! 

^^^-  Long  enough— the  little  fool— 

To  learn  my  meaning— then  she  flushed  and  fled  ; 
I  followed— when,  as  the  foul  fiend  would  have  it,' 
Ginevra  Malatesta  coming  by 
From  vespers  with  her  train,  sheltered  the  pigeon, 
And  spoiled  my  chase. 

Man.  You  did  not  give  it  up  ? 

Tor.     I  changed  my  plan  ;  the  mistress  being  coy, 
I  spread  my  net  to  catch  the  maid— oh,  lord— 
The  veriest  Gorgon  !     You  might  swear  none  e'er 
Had  given  her  chase  before— no  coyness  there  ; 
A  small  expense  of  oaths  and  coin  sufficed 
To  make  her  think  herself  a  misprized  Venus, 
And  me  the  most  discriminating  wooer 
In  all  Faenza.     'Twill  not  need  much  art 
For  me  to  win  an  entrance  to  the  house. 
And  when  I  'm  in  it,  it  shall  go  hard,  my  lord. 
But  I  find  means  to  get  you  access  ^o. 

Man.     About  it  straight ;  at  dusk  to-morrow  night 
Be  here,  armed,  masked,  and  cloaked. 

.     ^.  '  While  poor  Bertuccio 

Awaits  our  coming  near  San  Stefano  ! 


20  THE    fool's   revenge.  [AcT  I. 

A  stone's  throw  from  th'e  casa  Malatesta. 

Asc.     He 's  here! 

Enter  Bertuccio,  l. 

Ber.  Not  yet  a-bed! 

Since  when  were  the  fiend's  eggs  so  hard  to  hatch  ? 
I  left  a  pleasant  little  germ  of  sin 
Some  half  an  hour  since  ;  it  should  be  full-grown 
By  this  time.     Is  it  ? 

Man.  Winged,  and  hoofed,  and  tailed. 

If  proud  Ginevra  Malatesta  sleep 
To-morrow  night  beneath  old  Guido's  roof. 
Then  call  me  a  snow-water-blooded-shaveling. 

JBer.     Ha!     'Tis  resolved  then  ? 

Tor.                                                    We  have  pledged  our  faith 
To  carry  off  the  fairest  in  Faenza 

Asc.     Before  the  stroke  of  midnight. 

Ord.  *Twas  my  plan 

To  gather  one  by  one  to  the  place  of  action; 
Lest,  going  in  a  troop,  we  might  awake 
Suspicion,  and  put  Guido  on  his  guard. 

Ber.     A  wise  precaution,  although  it  7vas  yours. 
I  wronged  you,  gentlemen  ;  I  thought  you  shrunk 
Even  from  sin,  when  there  was  danger  in 't. 
It  seems  there  are  deeds  black  enough  to  make 
Even  Torelli  brave,  Ascolti  prompt. 
And  Ordelaffi  witty.     But  the  place  ? 

Man.     Beside  San  Stef  ano. 

Ber.  The  hour  of  meeting  ? 

Man.     Half  an  hour  after  vespers.     There  await  us. 
And  now,  good  rest,  my  lords;  the  night  wanes  fast. 
My  duchess  will  be  weary. 

All  {Going.)  Sir,  good  night! 

Ber.     Sleep  well,  Torelli.     Dream  of  charging  home 
In  the  van  of  some  fierce  fight. 

Tor.  My  common  dream. 

Ber.     'Tis  natural — dreams  go  by  contraries! 
And  you,  Ascolti,  dream  of  telling  truth; 
And,  Ordelaffi,  that  you  've  grown  wise. 

Tor.     And,  you,  that  your  back's  straight,  your  legs  a  match. 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  21 

Asc.     And  your  tongue  tipped  with  honey. 

Ord.  Come,  my  lords, 

Leave  him  to  spit  his  venom  at  the  moon, 
As  they  say  toads  do!  [Exit  R. 

Ber.  Take  my  curse  among  you — 

Fair,  false,  big,  brainless,  outside  shows  of  men; 
For  once  your  gibes  and  jeers  fall  pointless  from  me. 
My  great  revenge  is  nigh,  and  drowns  all  sense, 
I  am  straight,  and  fair,  and  \/ell-shaped  as  yourselves; 
Vengeance  swells  out  my  veins,  and  lifts  my  head, 
And  makes  me  terrible!      Come,  sweet  to-morrow, 
And  put  my  enemy's  heart  into  my  hand 
That  I  may  gnaw  it! 

END    OF    ACT   I. 


ACT    II. 


Scene  i. — A  Room  in  the  house  of  Bertuccio,  hung  with  tapestry; 
a  colored  statue  of  the  Madonna  in  a  recess^  with  a  small  lamp 
burning  before  it ;  carved  and  colored  furniture;  a  carved  cabi- 
net and  large  carved  coffers;  in  the  centre  a  window  opening  on 
the  street^  with  a  balcony;  behind  the  tapestry^  a  secret  door  com- 
municating with  the  street^  L.  2  e.  ;  a  door,  r.  2  e.;  a  lamp 
lighted;  a  lute  and  flowers ;  a  missal  on  a  stand  before  the 
statue  ;  a  recess  concealed  by  the  tapestry,  l.  3  e. 

ToRELLi  and  Brigitta  discovered,  c. 

Bri.     Hark,  there 's  the  quarter! — you  must  hence,  fair  signor. 
Tor.     But  a  few  moments  more  of  your  sweet  presence' 
Bri.     Saint  Ursula,  she  knows,  'tis  not  my  will 

That  drives  you  hence;  but  if  my  master  found 

That  I  received  a  man  into  the  house, 

*Twere  pity  of  my  place,  if  not  my  life. 

Tor.     Your  master  is  a  churl,  that  would  condemn 


22  THE   fool's  REVENGE.  [ACTII. 

These  maiden  blooms  to  wither  on  the  tree. 

Bri.     Churl  you  may  call  him!     Why  he 'd  have  the  house 
A  prison.     If  you  heard  the  coil  he  keeps 
Of  bolts,  and  bars,  and  locks!     Lord  knows  the  twitter 
I  've  been  in  all  to-day  about  the  key 
I  lost  this  morning — it  unlocks  the  dooi 
Of  the  turnpike  stair  that  leads  down  to  the  street. 

Tor.     'Twas  lucky  I  came  by  just  when  you  dropt  it. 

Bri.     Dropt! — nay,  signor,  'twas  whipped  off  by  some  cut- 
purse,  that  thought  to  filch  my  coin. 

Tor.  That's  a  shrewd  guess! 

He  must  have  flung  it  from  him  where  I  found  it. 
Not  knowing  {^Bowing  to  her)  of  what  jewel  it  unlocked 
The  casket! 

Bri.     How  can  I  ever  pay  your  pains  that  brought  it  back  ? 

Tor.     By  ever  and  anon  giving  me  leave 
To  come  and  sun  myself  in  your  chaste  presence. 

Bri.     Alas,  sweet  signor.   [Coquettishly.) 

Tor.     {In  the  same  tone.)  Oh\   divine  Brigitta! 

Bri.     But  I  must  say  farewell.     Vespers  are  over; 
My  mistress  will  be  waiting — she 's  so  fearful. 

Tor.     As  if  her  unripe  beauties  were  in  danger. 
While  your  maturer  loveliness  can  walk 
The  streets  unguarded. 

Bri.     Nay — I  'm  a  poor,  fond,  thing;    Lord  knows  the  risk 
I  run  to  let  you  in. 

Tor.  I  warrant  now 

You  've  some  snug  nook  where,  if  your  master  came. 
You  could  bestow  me  at  a  pinch. 

Bri.  I  know  none. 

Unless  'twere  here,  {Lifting  arras  l.  3  e.)  behind  the  arras,  look! 
Here 's  a  hole,  too,  whence  you  could  peep  to  see 
When  the  coast's  clear! 

Tor.     {Aside.)  There  's  room  enough  for  two. 

{Sternly)  Brigitta! 

Bri.  Signor! 

Tor.     {  With  feigned  suspicion.)     How  if  this  had  served 
For  hiding  others  before  me  ? 

Bri.  I  swear 


Scene  i.]                     the  fool's  revenge.  23 

By  the  eleven  thousand  virgins 


Tor.  That 's 

Too  many  by  ten  thousand  and  ten  hundred 
And  ninety-nine!      Vouch  but  your  virgin  self, 
And  I  am  satisfied! 

Bri.     {^Whimperings     Alack-a-day! 
To  be  suspected  after  all  these  years. 

Tor.     Pardon  a  lover's  jealousy — this  kiss 
Shall  wipe  away  the  memory  of  my  wrong. 
(Aside)     What  will  not  loyalty  drive  a  man  to  ? 
(Kisses  her. )     There! 

Bri.     (Aside.)     He  has  the  sweetest  lips! — And  now  begone, 
Sweet  signor,  if  you  love  me. 

Tor.  If^  Brigitta! 

Banish  me  then  to  outer  darkness  straight! 
Farewell,  my  full-blown  rose — let  others  prize 
The  opening  bud — the  ripe,  rich  flower  for  me! 

Bri.     Oh,  the  saints,  how  he  talks!      This  way,  sweet  signor, 

(Taking  a  key  from  her  girdle ) 
The  secret  door — the  key  you  found  and  brought  me 
Unlocks  it.  ( Unlocking  secret  door,  l.  2  e.) 

Tor.     {Taking  another  from  his  girdle^  aside.)     Else,  why  did  I 
filch  it  from  you — 
And  have  this,  its  twin  brother,  forged  to-day! 

Bri.    (Getting  the  lamp)    I  '11  light  you  out,  and  lock  the  door 
behind  you, 
^*  Safe  bind,  safe  find." 

Tor.  Good  night,  sweet  piece  of  woman, 

I  leave  my  heart  in  pledge.     (Aside.)  Now  for  the  Duke. 

Bbigitta  holds  open  the  door  and  lights  him  down,  then  locks  it. 

Bri.     He's  gone — bless  his  sweet  face!     To  think  what  risks 
Men  will  run  that  are  lovers — and  indeed 
Weak -women,  too!      Lord!  if  my  master  knew. 

(Getting  on  her  mantle.) 
'Tis  lucky  San  Costanza  is  hard  by — 
I  should  be  fearful  else.     Faenza  's  full 
Of  gallants — and  who  knows  what  might  befall 


24  THE  fool's  revenge.  [ACT  II. 

A  poor  young  woman  like  myseif,  with  naught 

Except  her  innocence  to  be  her  safeguard!  [Extt^  r.  2  e. 

As  soon   as   she   has  closed  the  door^  the  secret  door,  c,  opens  and 
Torelli  re-appears. 

Tor.     This  way,  my  lord;  the  dragon  has  departed. 

Enter  Maufredi  from  the  secret  door,  L.  2  e, 

Man,     'Tis  time — I  was  weary  of  my  watch. 

Tor.     You  were  alone,  at  least.     Think  of  my  lot, 
That  had  to  make  love  to  a  tough  old  spinster. 
I  would  we  had  changed  parts.     Why,  good  my  lord, 
I  had  to  kiss  her.     Faugh!     When  shall  I  get 
The  garlic  from  my  beard  ?     But  here's  the  cage 
That  holds  our  bird.     We  must  ensconce  ourselves, 
For  they'll  be  here  anon — vespers  were  over 
Before  we  entered. 

Man.  Thanks  to  your  device 

Of  the  forged  key.     Yet  that  was  scarcely  needed; 
I've  climbed  more  break-neck  balconies  than  that 

,  {Pointing  to  window^ 

Without  a  silken  ladder  !     (Looking  about?)     So — a  lute — 
A  missal — flowers! — more  tokens  of  a  maid 
Than  of  a  mistress! — Well,  so  much  the  better; 
I  long  to  see  the  girl.     Is  she  as  fair 
As  Serafino  painted  ? 

Tor.  Faith,  my  lord, 

She's  fair  enough  to  justify  more  sonnets 
Than  e'er  fat  Petrarch  pumped  out  for  his  Laura. 
She  is  a  paragon  of  blushing  girlhood, 
Full  of  temptation  to  the  finger-tips. 
I  marvel  at  myself,  that  e'er  I  yielded 
This  amorous  enterprise,  even  to  you — 
But  that  my  loyalty  outbears  my  love. 

Man.     I  will  requite  your  loyalty;  fear  not; 
But  where  shall  we  bestow  ourselves  ? 

Tor.     {Lifting  the  arras  from  the  recess^     In  here; 
The  old  crone  showed  \<  me  but  now — there's  cover 
And  peeping-place  sufficient.     Hark!   they  come! 


Scene  i.]        the  fool's  revenge.  25 

Stand  close,  my  lord.  {They  retire  behind  the  arras.) 

Enter  Fiordelisa  and  Brigitta,  r.  2  e. 

Bri,  And  he  was  there  to-night  ? 

Fio,     Oh  yes!     He  offered  me  the  holy  water 
As  I  passed  in.     I  trembled  so,  Brigitta, 
When  our  han^fc  met,  I  fear  he  must  have  marked  it, 
But  that  he  seemed  almost  as  trembling,  too. 
As  I  was. 

Bri,     He!  a  brazen  popinjay, 
I'll  warrant  me,  for  all  his  downcast  looks! 
I  wonder  how  my  master  would  endure 
To  hear  of  such  audacious  goings  on!   ' 

Fio.     That  makes  me  sad.     My  father  is  so  kind, 
I  cannot  bear  to  have  a  secret  from  him. 
Sometimes  I  feel  as  I  would  tell  him  all: 
But  then,  I  think,  perhaps  he  would  forbid  me 
From  going  out  to  church; — and,  'tis  so  dull 
To  be  shut  up  here  all  the  long  bright  day; 
From  morn  till  dark,  to  mark  the  busy  stir 
Under  the  window,  and  the  happy  voices 
Of  holiday-makers,  that  go  out  and  in 
Just  as  they  please.     Look  at  the  birds,  Brigittai 
Their  wings  are  free,  yet  no  harm  comes  to  them; 
I'm  sure  they're  innocent!     And  then  to  hear 
Sometimes  the  trumpets,  as  the  knights  ride  by. 
And  tramp  of  armed  men — {Lute  sounds  without) — sometimes  a 

lute. 
Hark!  'tis  his  lute!  I  know  the  air — how  sweet! 
My  good  Brigitta,  would  there  be  much  harm 
If  I  touched  mine — only  a  little  touch. 
To  tell  him  I  am  listening? 

Bri.  Holy  saints. 

Was  e'er  such  boldness!     I  must  have  your  lute 
Locked  up.     These  girls!  these  girls! — Bar  them  from  Court, 
And  they'll  find  matter  in  church;  keep  them  from  speech, 
And  they'll  make  cat-gut  do  the  work  of  tongue! 
Better  be  charged  to  keep  a  cat  from  cream, 
Than  a  girl  from  gallants! 


26  THE  fool's  REVENGE.  [ACT  IL 

J^io.  '  Nay  but,  good  Brigitta, 

This  gentleman  is  none. 

^ri.  How  do  jou  know  ? 

J^i'o.     He  never  speaks  to  me — scarce  looks — or  if 
He  do,  it  is  but  to  withdraw  his  gaze 
As  hastily  as  I  do  mine.     I  've  seen  him 
Blush  when  our  eyes  met;  not  like  yon  rude  man. 
Who  pressed  upon  me  with  such  words  and  looIR 
As  made  me  red  and  hot, — you  know  the  time — 
When  that  kind  lady,  Countess  Malatesta, 
Scarce  saved  me  from  his  boldness. 

Mn.  Tilly-vally. 

There  are  more  ways  of  bird-catching  than  one; 
He  *s  the  best  fowler  who  least  scares  his  quarry. 
But  I  must  go  and  see  the  supper  toward. 
Your  father  will  be  here  anon !  [£xif  BrigittA,  r. 

jFw.  Dear  father!  * 

Would  he  were  here,  that  I  might  rest  my  head 
Upon  his  breast,  and  have  his  arms  about  me; 
For  then  I  feel  there 's  something  I  may  love. 
And  not  be  chidden  for  it.     (Zufe  sounds.)     Hark!  again — 
If  I  durst  answer! 

How  sad  he  must  be  out  there  in  the  dark, 
Not  knowing  if  I  mark  his  music. 
(Takes  her  lute,  then  puts  it  away.)     No! 
My  father  would  be  angry — sad  enough 
To  have  one  joy  I  may  not  share  with  him; 
Yet  there  can  be  no  harm  in  listening — 
I  thought  to-night  he  would  have  spoken  to  me, 
But  then  Brigitta  came — and  he  fell  back! 
I  'm  glad  he  did  not  speak — and  yet  I  'm  sorry — 
I  should  so  like  to  hear  his  voice — ^just  once — 
He  comes  in  my  dreams,  now — but  he  never  speaks — 
I  *m  sure  'tis  soft  and  sweet!     (Listening.)     His  lute  is  hushed. 
What  if  I  touch  mine,  now  that  he  is  gone  ? 
I  must  not  look  out  of  the  casement! — Yes — 
I  'm  sure  he  *s  gone  ?     (Takes  her  lute  and  strikes  a  chord,  L.) 

Man.     (Aside,  lifting  the  arras.)     She  is  worth  ten  Ginevras! 

Tor.     (Holding  him  back.)     Not  yet! 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  27 

^^^'  .  Unhand  me — I  will  speak  to  her! 

Bertuccio  appears  at  the  door,  r.  2  e. 

Tor.  My  Lord!  It  is  Bertuccio!  In— quick!  (Bertuccio 
stands  for  a  moment  fondly  contemplating  Fiordelisa — his  dress  is 
sober-  and  his  manner  composed.     He  steps  quietly  forward.) 

Ber.     My  own! 

Fio.  (  Turning  suddenly,  and  flinging  herself  into  his  arms  with  a 
cry  of  joy?)     My  father! 

Ber.     (Embracing  her  tenderly)     Closer,  closer  yet! 
Let  me  feel  those  soft  arms  about  my  neck 

This  dear  cheek  on  my  heart!     No — do  not  stir 

It  does  me  so  much  good!     I  am  so  happy — 
These  minutes  are  worth  years! 

P^o.  My  own  dear  father! 

Ber.     Let  me  look  at  thee,  darling — why,  thou  growest 
More  and  more  beautiful!     Thou  'rt  happy  here  ? 
Hast  all  that  thou  desirest — thy  lute — thy  flowers  ? 

She  loves  her  poor  old  father  ? — Blessings  on  thee 

I  know  thou  dost — but  tell  me  so. 

^^0.  I  love  you — 

I  love  you  very  much!     I  am  so  happy 
When  you  are  with  me.     Why  do  you  come  so  late. 
And  go  so  soon  ?     Why  not  stay  always  here  ? 

Ber.     Why  not!     Why  not!     Oh,  if  I  could!     To  live 

Where  there  *s  no  mocking,  and  no  being  mocked 

No  laughter  but  what 's  innocent ;  no  mirth 
That  leaves  an  after  bitterness  like  gall. 

Fio.     Now,  you  are  sad!     There 's  that  black  ugly  cloud 
Upon  your  brow— you  promised,  the  last  time, 
It  never  should  come  when  we  were  together. 
You  know  when  J^'^z/V^  sad /'w  sad  too. 

^^^^-  My  bird! 

I  'm  selfish  even  with  thee— let  dark  thoughts  come, 
That  thy  sweet  voice  may  chase  them,  as  they  say 
The  blessed  church  bells  drive  the  demons  off. 

Fio.     If  I  but  knew  the  reason  of  your  sadness, 
Then  I  might  comfort  you  ;  but  I  know  nothing— 


28  THE    fool's   revenge.  [ACT  II. 

Not  even  your  name. 

Ber.     I  'd  have  no  name  for  thee 
But  "  father." 

Fio.     In  the  convent  at  Cesena, 
Where  I  was  reared,  they  used  to  call  me  orphan. 
I  thought  I  had  no  father,  till  you  came, 
And  then  they  needed  not  to  say  I  had  one; 
My  own  heart  told  me  that. 

Ber.  I  often  think 

I  had  done  well  to  have  left  thee  there,  in  the  peace 
Of  that  still  cloister.     But  it  was  too  hard — 
My  empty  heart  so  hungered  for  my  child! 
For  those  dear  eyes  that  look  no  scorn  for  me —  • 

That  voice  that  speaks  respect  and  tenderness, 
Even  for  me! — My  dove — my  lily-flower — 
My  only  stay  in  life      Oh,  God!  I  thank  thee 
Thou  hast  left  me  this  at  least!  {He  wee^s,) 

Fio.  Dear  father! 

You're  crying  now;  you  must  not  cry — you  must  not. 
I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  cry. 

Ber.  Let  be! 

'Twere  better  than  to  see  me  laugh. 

Fio.  But  wherefore  ? 

You  say  you  are  so  happy  here — and  yet 
You  never  come  but  to  weep  bitter  tears. 
And  I  can  but  weep  too — not  knowmg  why. 
Why  are  you  sad?     Oh,  tell  me — tell  me  all! 

Ber.     I  cannot.     In  this  house  I  am  thy  father; 
Out  of  it,  what  I  am  boots  not  to  say; 
Hated,  perhaps — or  envied — feared,  I  hope. 
By  many — scorned  by  more — and  loved  by  none. 
In  this  one  innocent  corner  of  the  world 
I  would  but  be  to  thee  a  father — something 
August,  and  sacred! 

Fio.  And  you  are  so,  father. 

Ber.     I  love  thee  with  a  love  strong  as  the  hate 
I  bear  for  all  but  thee.     Come,  sit  beside  me. 
With  thy  pure  hand  in  mine — and  tell  me  still, 
"  I  love  you,"  and  ''  I  love  you" — only  that. 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  29 

Smile  on  me — so! — thy  smile  is  passing  sweet? 
Thy  mother  used  to  smile  so  once — oh,  God ! 
I  cannot  bear  it.     Do  not  smile — it  wakes 
Memories  that  tear  my  heart-strings.     Do  not  look 
So  like  thy  mother,  or  I  shall  go  mad! 

Fio.     Oh,  tell  me  of  my  mother! 

Ber.     {Shuddering)  No,  no,  no! 

Fio.     She 's  deadi^ 

Ber.  Yes. 

^io.  You  were  with  her  when  she  died  } 

Ber.     No! — leave  the  dead  alone — talk  of  thyself. 
Thy  life  here — Thou  heed'st  well  my  caution,  girl — 
Not  to  go  out  by  day,  nor  show  thyself 
There,  at  the  casement. 

Fio.                               Yes:  some  day,  I  hope, 
You  will  take  me  with  you,  but  to  see  the  town — 
'Tis  so  hard  to  be  shut  up  here,  alone 

Ber.     Thou  hast  not  stirred  abroad  ?  {Suspiciously  and  eagerly) 

^^^-  Only  to  vespers — 

You  said  I  might  do  that  with  good  Brigitta. 
I  never  go  forth  or  come  in  alone. 

Ber.     That 's  well.    I  grieve  that  thou  should  *st  live  so  close, 
But  if  thou  knewest  what  poison  's  in  the  air — 
What  evil  walks  the  streets— How  innocence 
Is  a  temptation — beauty  but  a  bait 
For  desperate  desires: — no  man,  I  hope, 
Has  spoken  to  thee  ? 

Fio.  Only  one. 

Ber.     {Fiercely)  Ha!  who? 

Fio.     I  know  not — 'twas  against  my  will.  ■ 

Ber.     {Eagerly)  You  gave 

No  answer? 

Fio.  No— I  fled. 

Ber.     {In  the  same  tone)     He  followed  you  ? 

Fio.     A  gracious  lady  gave  me  kind  protection, 
And  bade  her  train  guard  me  safe  home.     Oh,  father, 
If  you  had  seen  how  good  she  was— how  gently 
She  soothed  my  fears— for  I  was  sore  afraid — 
I  'm  sure  you  'd  love  her. 


30  THE  fool's  revenge.  [AcT  II 

Ber.      .  Did  you  learn  her  name? 

Fio.     I  asked  it,  first,  to  set  it  in  my  prayers — 
And  then,  that  you  might  pray  for  her. 

Ber.     Her  name?     (Aside.)     I  pray!  {Contemptuously:) 

Bio.  The  Countess  Malatesta. 

Ber.     (Aside.)     Count  Malatesta's  wife  protect  my  child! 
You  have  not  seen  her  since  ? 

Bio,  No;  though  she  urged  me 

So  hard  to  come  to  her ;  and  asked  my  name  ; 
And  who  my  parents  were  ;  and  where  I  lived. 

Ber.     You  did  not  tell  her  ? 

Bio.  Who  my  parents  were  ? 

How  could  I,  when  I  must  not  know  myself? 

Ber.     Patience,  my  darling  ;  trust  thy  father's  love, 
That  there  is  reason  for  this  mystery!  v 

The  time  may  come  when  we  may  live  in  peace, 
And  walk  together  free,  under  free  heaven; 
But  that  cannot  be  here — nor  now! 

Bio.  Oh,  when — 

When  shall  that  time  arrive  ? 

Ber.     (Bitterly.)     When  what  I  live  for 
Has  been  achieved! 

Bio.     ( Timidly.)     What  you  live  for  ? 

Ber.     (With  sudden  ferocity.)  Revenge! 

Bio.  (Averting  her  eyes  with  horror.)  Oh,  do  not  look  so,  father! 

Ber,  Listen,  girl,-^ 

You  asked  me  of  your  mother; — it  is  time 
You  should  know  why  all  questioning  of  her 
Racks  me  to  madness.     Look  upon  me,  child; 
Misshapen  as  I  am,  there  once  was  one. 
Who  seeing  me  despised,  mocked,  lonely,  poor — 
Loved  me,  I  think,  most  for  my  misery; 
Thy  mother,  like  thee — just  so  pure — so  sweet. 
I  was  a  public  notary  in  Cesena; 
Our  life  was  humble,  but  so  happy;  thou 
Wert  in  thy  cradle  then,  and  many  a  night 
Thy  mother  and  I  sat  hand  in  hand  together, 
Watching  thine  innocent  smiles,  and  building  up 
Long  plans  of  joy  to  come!      (His  voice  falters — he  turns  away.) 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge. 

Fio.  Alas!  she  died! 

Ber.     Died!  There  are  deaths  'tis  comfort  to  look  back  on; 
Her's  was  not  such  a  death.     A  devil  came 
Across  our  quiet  life,  and  marked  her  beauty, 
And  lusted  for  her;  and  when  she  scorned  his  offers, 
Because  he  was  a  noble — great  and  strong, 
He  bore  her  from  my  side — by.  force — and  after 
I  never  saw  her  more:  they  brought  me  news 
That  she  was  dead ! 

Fio.  Ah  me! 

Ber,  And  I  was  mad, 

For  years  and  years,  and  when  my  wits  came  back — 
If  e'er  they  came — they  brought  one  haunting  purpose. 
That  since  has  shaped  my  life — to  have  revenge! 
Revenge  upon  her  wronger  and  his  order; 
Revenge  in  kind;  to  quit  him — wife  for  wife! 

Fio.     Father,  'tis  not  for  me  to  question  with  you: 
But  think! — revenge  belongeth  not  to  man, 
It  is  God's  attribute — usurp  it  not ! 

Ber.     Preach  abstinence  to  him  that  dies  of  hunger, 
Tell  the  poor  wretch  who  perishes  of  thirst. 
There's  danger  in  the  cup  his  fingers  clutch; 
But  bid  me  not  forswear  revenge.     No  word! 
Thou  know'st  now  why  I  mew  thee  up  so  close; 
Keep  thee  out  of  the  streets;  shut  thee  from  eyes 
And  tongues  of  lawless  men — for  in  these  days 
All  men  are  lawless — 'Tis  because  I  fear 
To  lose  thee,  as  I  lost  thy  mother. 

Fio.  Father, 

I  *11  pray  for  her. 

Ber.  Do — and  for  me;  good  night! 

Fio.     Oh,  not  so  soon — with  all  these  sad  dark  thoughts. 
These  bitter  memories.     You  need  my  love; 
I  I  '11  touch  my  lute  for  you,  and  sing  to  it.     • 
j  Music,  you  know,  chases  all  evil  angels. 

Ber.     I  must  go  :  'tis  grave  business  calls  me  hence — 
(Aside.)  'Tis  time  that  I  was  at  my  post.     My  own, 
Sleep  in  thine  innocence.     Good!  good  night! 

Fio.     Bat  let  me  see  you  to  the  outer  door. 


31 


32       .      '  THE    fool's    revenge.  *        [ACT  II. 

Ber.     Not  a  step  further,  then.     God  guard  this  place, 
That  here  my  flower  may  grow,  safe  from  the  bUght 
Of  look,  or  word  impure,  a  holy  thing 
Consecrate  to  my  service,  and  my  love! 

{Exit  Bertuccio  and  Fiordelisa,  r. 

Enter  from  behind  the  arras  ^  Manfredi  andToiKBAAA. 

Man.     His  daughter!     That  so  fair  a  branch  should  spring 
From  such  a  gnarled  and  misshapen  stock! 

Tor.     But  did  you  mark  how  he  raved  of  revenge 
Upon  our  order? 

Man.  By  the  mass,  I  think 

That  Guido  Malatesta  is  the  man 
That  played  him  the  shrewd  trick  he  told  the  girl  of. 
'Twas  at  Cesena,  marked  you — the  time  fits — 
That 's  why  he  hounds  me  on  after  the  countess. 
What!  must  I  be  the  tool  of  his  revenge? 
I'll  teach  the  scurril  slave  to  strike  at  nobles! 

Tor.     Hark!  what's  that?  (Listening^ 

Man.  'Tis  outside  the  window  I 

Tor.   {Listening?)  Yes, 

By  Bacchus,  some  one  climbs  the  balcony! 

Man.     A  gallant  ? 

Tor.  In,  sir;  see  the  play  played  out. 

Man.     But  I  '11  not  be  forestalled! 

Tor,  We  've  time  enough. 

{They  retire  to  the  recess^ 

Enter  Aquila  from  the  balcony. 

Aqu.     Pardon,  sweet  saint,  if  I  profane  thy  shrine. 
I  watched  Bertuccio  forth — he  passed  me  close — 
I  feared  he  would  have  seen  me.     I  have  sworn 
Not  to  betray  their  foul  design  to  him. 
And  to  warn  her,  this  means  alone  is  left  me. 
Hark!  'tis  her  gracious  step — she  comes  this  way. 

Enter  Fiordelisa;  she  kneels  before  the  statue  of  the  Madonna, 

Fio.     Comfort  of  the  afflicted — comfort  him! 
Turn  his  revengeful  purpose  to  submission, 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  33 

And  grant  that  I  may  grow  to  take  the  place 
My  mother  has  left  empty  in  his  heart! 
He's  gone!     And  I  had  not  the  heart  to  speak 
Of  the  young  gentleman  who  follows  me. 
He  asked  if  any  spoke  to  me  ;  I  told 
The  truth — he  never  spoke  to  me. 

(^Turning  round  and  seeing  Aquila.) 
{In  great  terror^  Who  's  there  ? 

Brigitta  !  help  !— 

Aqu.  Silence!  but  have  no  fear — 

I  am  not  here  to  harm  you — do  not  tremble. 
I  would  die,  lady,  rather  than  offend  you. 

Fio.     Oh,  sir,  how  came  you  here  ? 

Aqu,  I  knew  no  other  way 

But  by  the  balcony.     Desperate  occasions 
Dispense  with  ceremony.     My  respect 
Is  absolute.     Fear  not :  I  am  not  here 
To  say,  "I  love  you,"  nor  to  tell  you  how 
For  months  your  face  has  been  my  beacon  star. 
My  passion  never  would  have  found  a  tongue, 
It  is  too  reverent:  but  your  safety,  lady, 
I  can  be  bold  for  that. 

Fio.  My  safety! 

Aqu.  Threatened 

With  desperate  danger.     Think  you  one  so  fair 
Could  even  pray  in  safety  in  Faenza? 
You  have  been  seen  :  your  beauty  hath  been  buzzed 
In  the  Court's  amorous  ear :  There  is  a  project 
To  scale  your  balcony  to-night. 

Fio.  Oh,  father! 

Aqu.     He  cannot  save  you — what  were  his  sole  strength 
Against  the  bravos  that  the  duke  commands, 
For  any  deed  of  ill.     My  arm  and  sword 
Are  stronger  than  your  father's — and  are  yours 
As  absolutely.     And  yet  what  were  these  ? 
I  could  die  for  you — but  I  could  not  save  you. 

Fio.     What  shall  I  do  ? 

Aqu.  Have  you  no  friends — protectors— 

To  whom  you  might  betake  yourself  ? 


34  THE   fool's   revenge.  fACT   II. 

Fio.  Alast 

I  am  a  stranger  here. 

Aqu.                            Think — have  you  none? 
Fio.     Ha  ! — if  the  Countess  Malatesta 


Aqu.  What  ? 

You  know  her  ? 

Fio.  She  once  rescued  me  from  insult 

Of  a  rude  man;  and  promised  help  whene'er 
I  chose  to  seek  it. 

Aqu.  She  is  good,  and  pure, 

And  powerful,  moreover.     That 's  the  chief. 
Go  to  her  straight — you  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Midnight  is  fixed  for  their  foul  enterprise. 

Fio.     But  how  to  find  the  house  ?    And  then  the  streets 
Are  dark  and  dangerous.     I  've  but  our  servant, 
Brigitta 

Aqu.  Not  a  word  to  her!     She  's  false. 

Can  you  trust  me  ?     I  '11  lead  you  to  the  countess. 

Fio.     (Aside.)     Were  this  a  stratagem! 

Aqu.  I  see  you  doubt  me, 

I  know  you  have  good  cause  to  doubt  all  men. 
Oh,  could  I  bare  my  heart,  and  show  you  there 
Your  image  set  amongst  its  holiest  thoughts, 
Beside  my  mother's  well-remembered  face —  * 

Could  truth  speak  with  the  tongue,  look  from  the  eyes,  j 

You  would  not  doubt  me!     What  can  oaths  avail  ? 
iHe  who  could  cheat  you,  would  not  fear  to  cheat  j 

\God  and  his  saints!     Lady,  it  is  the  truth 

That  I  have  spoken!     May  heaven  give  you  faith  | 

To  trust  me;  but  if  not,  I  will  stay, 
And  die  in  your  defence.  ^ 

Fio.  Sir,  I  will  trust  you! 

And  heaven  so  deal  with  you  as  you  with  me! 
Go  with  me  to  the  Countess  Malatesta — 
I  '11  seek  the  shelter  of  her  roof  to-night. 
To-morrow  must  bring  counsel  for  the  future. 

Aqu.  Oh!  bless  you  for  this  trust!  Come — quick — but  softly — 
Put  on  your  veil — fear  not — I  am  your  guard. 
Your  slave,  your  sentinel.     I  crave  no  guerdon — 


Scene  ii.]  the  fool's  revenge. 


35 


Not  even  a  look!     Enough  for  me  to  save  you. 

[jSxi'f  FioRDELiSA  and  Dell'  Aquila. 

Man.         {Breaking  from  behind  the  arras^  Torelli  following 
him.)   Why  did  you  hold  me  back  ?     Our  project 's  marred. 
This  moonstruck  poet  bears  away  the  prize, 
And  I  am  fooled. 

Tor.  Nay;  trust  my  cooler  brain. 

I  '11  follow  him  to  Malatesta's.     Sure 
He'll  give  her  shelter? 

Man.  In  his  lady's  absence  ? 

Tor.     Even  so.     The  old  ruffian  can  be  courteous 
When  there's  a  pretty  face  in  question! 

Man.  Let  him! 

I  '11  break  his  house,  or  any  man  that  dares 
Set  his  locks  in  the  way  of  my  good  pleasure! 

Tor.     Why  not  ?     'Twill  give  a  double  pungency 
To  our  revenge  upon  Bertuccio. 
We  only  looked  to  keep  the  foul-mouthed  knave 
Out  of  the  way  while  we  bore  off  his  pearl; 
But  now  we  '11  use  him  for  the  robbery. 
He  shall  see  us  scale  Malatesta's  windows  ; 
But  she  whom  we  bear  thence,  muffled  and  gagged, 
Shall  be  the  hunch-backed  scoffer's  pretty  daughter! 

Ma?t.     A  rare  revenge!  and  so  this  brain-sick  poet 
And  my  curst  jester  may  console  each  other. 
Watch  them  to  Malatesta's!  I'll  to  our  friends. 
And  find  Bertuccio  by  San  Stefano ! 

[Exit  by  secret  door,  L.  2  E. 

Scene  II. — A  street  near  the  Church  of  San  Stefano;  stage  darit. 

Enter  Bertuccio,  l.,  cloaked  and  masked. 

Ber.     The  hour  has  struck — they  will  be  here  anon — 
Trust  them  to  keep  tryst  for  a  villainous  deed. 
I  had  need  to  whet  the  memory  of  my  wrong. 
Or  my  girl's  angel  face  and  innocent  tongue 
Had  shaken  even  my  steadfastness  of  purpose ! 
And  Malatesta's  wife  has  done  her  kindness — 
I  would  that  she  had  not!     But  what 's  such  slight  service 


36  THE    fool's    revenge.  [ACT    II. 

To  my  huge  wrong  ?     Let  me  but  think  of  that! 
I  grow  too  human  near  my  child.     I  lack 
The  sharp  sting  of  court  scorn  to  spur  the  sides 
Of  my  intent!     With  her  I  'm  free  to  weep; 
With  them,  I  still  must  laugh — still  be  their  ape 
To  mop,  and  mow,  and  wake  their  shallow  mirth. 
True,  I  can  sometimes  bite,  as  monkeys  do. 
JThey'll  make  mirth  of  that,  too!     Oh,  courtly  sirs! 
Sweet-spoken,  stalwart  gallants!  if  you  knew 
The  hate  that  rankles  underneath  my  motley! 
The  scorn  that  barbs  my  wit — the  bitterness 
That  grins  behind  my  laughter — you  would  start, 
And  shudder  o'er  your  cups,  and  cross  yourselves 
As  if  the  devil  were  in  your  company! 
Once  my  revenge  achieved,  I  '11  spurn  my  chain — 
Fool  it  no  more — but  give  what 's  left  of  life 
To  thought  of  her  I  've  lost,  and  love  of  her 
That  yet  is  left'  me. 

Enter  Manfredi,  Ascolti  and  Ordelaffi,  masked  and  cloaked, 

Man.  Hist,  Bertuccio! 

Ber.     Here,  gossip  Galeotto — you  are  punctual — 
Ascolti  too — grave  Signor  Florentine, 
We  '11  show  you  how  the  gallants  of  Faenza 
Treat  greybeards  who  aspire  to  handsome  wives. 
Remember  your  beard's  grizzled — and  beware ' 

Asc.     I  will  stand  warned.     You  have  the  ladders  here!  t 

Ber.     The  lackeys  wait  in  charge  of  them  hard  by. 
But  where  's  Torelli  ? — we  shall  want  his  help.''  ' 

Ord.     Pshaw!  our  three  swords  are  plenty. 

Ber,  Cry  you  mercy! 

'Tis  not  Torelli's  sword  we  want. 

Ord.  What  then  ? 

Ber.     His  marvellous  quick  scent  of  danger,  man. 
Stick  to  his  skirts,  I  '11  answer  for't  you're  safe. 
Perhaps  he  smelt  some  risk  of  buffets  here, 
And  so  has  ta'en  him  home  to  bed. 

Man.  Away 

Towards  Malatesta's  house — 'twas  there  he  promised 


Scene  hi.]  the  fool's  revenge.  37 

To  meet  us.     Sirrah  fool,  be  it  thy  post 

To  hold  the  ladder  while  we  mount — and  see 

Thou  play'st  us  no  jade's  trick,  or  'ware  the  whip! 

Ber.     Fear  not,  magnanimous  gossip — do  your  work 
With  as  good  will  as  I  do  mine.     The  countess 
Sleeps  in  the  chamber  of  the  balcony 
Which  rounds  the  angle  of  the  southern  front; 
I  came  but  now  by  the  palace — all  was  quiet. 

Man.     Set  on  then,  cautiously — use  not  your  swords, 
Unless  on  strong  compulsion;  blood  tells  tales — 
And  I  want  no  more  feuds  upon  my  hands.  \Exeunt,  r. 

Scene  III. — Exterior  of  the  Palace  of  Malatesta,  with  Street. 
The  flat  exhibits   the   corner   of  two   streets.     The  Palace  of 
Malatesta  is  on  a  set  piece^  l.   u.  e.     A  window  on  the  first 
floor,  with  a  balcony^  practicable. — Night. 

Enter  Fiordelisa  and  Dell'  Aquila,  followed  by  Torelli  at  a 
distance.  Through  the  scene  between  Fiordelisa,  Dell' 
Aquila  and  Malatesta,  Torelli  watches  and  listens  behind 
a  projecting  piece  of  masonry. 

Aqu.     Be  of  good  cheer — this  is  the  house — Fll  knock 
And  summon  forth  the  count.  (Knocks^ 

Fio.  Oh,  sir!  what  thanks 

Can  e'er  repay  this  kindness  ? 

Aqu,  But  remember 

Who  'twas  that  did  it,  I  am  thanked  enough. 

Fio.     I  '11  pray  for  you,  after  my  father — hark! 

Aqu.     They  come! 

Enter  a  Servant  from  house. 

Two  strangers  who  crave  instant  speech 
Of  the  Count  Malatesta.  {Exit  Servant. 

Aqu.     And  I  should  see  your  father  ? 

Fio.  Then  you  know  him  ? 

Aqu.     Yes. 

Fio.     And  his  business — occupations  ?  {He  bows.) 

(Sadly)     'Tis  more  than  I  do,  sir,  that  am  his  child. 
I  do  not  even  know  his  name. 


38  THE    fool's   revenge.  [AcT  II. 

Aqu.  What  he 

Keeps  secret  from  you  'tis  not  mine  to  tell; 
'Twere  well  you  should  not  question  him  too  closely; 
He  shall  learn  you  are  safe. 

Fio.  And  tell  him,  too, 

That  'twas  you  saved  me,  sir.     Promise  me  that. 

Enter  Malatesta,  l. 

Mai.     Who  is  it  would  have  speech  of  Malatesta  ? 

Aqu.     You  know  me,  count  ? 

Mai.  Deir  Aquila,  well  met! 

But  your  companion  ?     (Aside.)     Ha!  a  petticoat! 
So  ho,  my  poet! 

Aqu.  Pardon,  if  I  pray 

This  lady's  name  may  rest  a  secret,  count; 
She  is  in  grievous  danger, — one  from  which 
Your  house  can  shelter  her.     She  owes  already 
Your  countess  much,  for  good  help  given  at  need, 
So  craves  to  increase  the  debt. 

Mai.  My  house  is  hers. 

But  she  should  know  my  countess  is  not  here. 

Flo.     Not  here! 

Mai.  But  if  she  dare  trust  my  grey  hairs 

She  shall  have  shelter. 

Aqu.  Nay,  she  cannot  choose. 

Mai.     I  *11  give  her  my  wife's  chamber,  if  she  will; 
Her  woman  to  attend  her. 

Aqu.  All  she  needs 

Is  your  roof's  shelter  for  the  night;  to-morrow 
Must  see  her  otherwise  bestowed. 

Mai.  Go  in, 

Fair  lady;  my  poor  house,  with  all  that's  in  it 
Is  at  your  service; — had  my  wife  been  here. 
You  had  had  gentler  'tendance;  as  it  is, 
I  '11  lead  you  to  her  chamber  and  there  leave  you. 

Tor.  (Aside.)    Now  to  the  hunters:  I  've  marked  down  the  deer. 

[Fxll  TORELLI,  L.  U.  E. 

•    Mai.  ( To  Aquila.)  You  will  not  stay  and  crush  a  cup  with  me  ? 


Scene  hi.]  the  fool's  revenge.  39 

Aqu.     No — not  to-night.    (Tc?  Fiordelisa.)    Did  you  not  well 
to  trust  me  ? 
Farewell ;  think  of  me  in  your  prayers! 

-Fto.  I  cannot 

Choose  but  do  that,  sir.     {Aside.)  Oh,  the  thought  of  him 
Will  come,  henceforth,  betwixt  my  prayers  and  heaven! 

[Exit  Malatesta,  l.  leaditig  in  Fiordelisa. 

Aqu.     His  childl    Since  when  did  grapes  grow  upon  thistles? 
And  yet  I  'm  glaa  to  know  the  tie  that  binds 
The  two  together  such  a  holy  one! 
Sweet  angel — sister  angels  guard  thy  sleep! 
Now,  to  seek  out  Bertuccio,  and  tell  him 
The  danger  she  has  'scaped  and  thank  the  saints 
That  made  me  her  preserver.  [Exit  Dell*  Aquila,  r. 

Enter  cautiously,  l.  u.  e.,  Bertuccio,  Manfredi,  Ascolti,   Orde- 
laffi  and  Torelli,  with  Servants  ca7'rying  ladders. 

Man.     Softly,  you  knaves!  with  velvet  tread,  like  tigers 

Ber.     Say  rather,   '  cats."    {A  light  appears  at  the  window,  l.  2  e.) 
Tor.  Which  is  the  balcony  ? 

Ber.     {Pointing?^  That!  I  have  noted  in  this  summer  weather 
The  window  's  left  unbarred. 

Asc.  Ha,  there  's  a  light! 

If  she  were  stirring  ? 

Ber.  What  an'  if  she  were  ? 

A  sudden  spring — a  cloak  flung  o'er  her  head  ; 
If  she  have  time  to  scream,  you  are  but  bunglers. 

Man.     My  cloak  will  serve.  {Takes  it  off ^ 

^sc.  If  she  alarm  the  house 

It  might  go  hard  with  us. 

Ber.  Oh,  cats  that  long 

For  fish,  yet  fear  to  wet  your  feet!     I'll  shame  you. 
Let  me  mount  first:  give  me  your  cloak,  Galeotto! 

Man.     By  your  leave,  fool,  I'll  net  my  own  bird.     Back! 
Hold  thou  the  ladder — that  is  lackeys'  work. 
And  fits  thee  best.     Ascolti  and  Torelli, 
Guard  the  approaches!     I  and  Ordelaffi 
Will  be  enough  to  mount,  and  snare  the  game. 
The  light  is  extinguished;  the  Servants  set  a  ladder  to  the  balcony. 


40  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  ir^ 

Ber.     (Holds  it.)     All 's  dark  now — up! 

Man.  Why,  rogue,  how  thy 

hand  shakes: 
Is 't  fear? 

*  Ber.     'Tis  inward  laughter,  Galeotto. 
To  think  how  blank  Guido  will  look  to-morrow 
To  find  the  nest  cold,  and  his  mate  borne  off. 

Manfredi  mounts  the  ladder^  followed  by  Ordelaffi — They  enter 

the  balcony. 

Ber.     [Eagerly  listening?^       Ha!    they    are   in   by    this    time! 
Cautious  fools! 
I  had  done  't  myself  in  half  the  space!     So,  Guido, 
You  love  your  young  wife  well,  they  say;  that's  brave. 

Manfredi  and  Ordelaffi  appear  on  the  balcony,  bearing  Fiorde- 
LiSA  in  their  arms,  muffled  in  Manfredi's^t/*?^-^ — She  struggles, 
but  cannot  scream — Ordelaffi  descends  first,  Manfredi  hands 
FiORDELiSA  to  him — They  come  down  the  ladder. 

Ber.     Tis  done! 

Man.  Away  all — to  my  garden  house, 

There  to  bestow  our  prize! 

Exeunt  Manfredi  ««^  Ordelaffi,  l.  u.  e. — The  Servants  carry 

off  the  ladder. 

Ber.     Now,  Malatesta,  {Shaking  his  fist  at  the  house.) 

Learn  what  it  is  to  wake  and  find  her  gone 
That  was  the  pride  and  joy  of  your  dim  eyes — 
The  comfort  of  your  age!     I  welcome  you 
To  the  blank  hearth — the  hunger  of  the  soul — 
The  long  dark  days  and  miserable  nights! 
These  you  gave  me — I  give  them  back  to  you! 
I,  the  despised,  deformed,  dishonored  jester, 
Have  reached  up  to  your  crown  and  pulled  it  down. 
And  flung  it  in  the  mire,  as  you  flung  mine! 
Now,  murdered  innocent,  thou  art  avenged! 
But  I  have  private  wrongs,  too,  to  repay: 
This  proud  Manfredi — he  you  spat  upon. 
He  you  spurned  such  a  day,  set  in  the  stocks. 


Scene  hi.]  the  fool's  revenge.  41 

Whipped — he  is  even  with  your  mightiness! 

Here  is  Francesca's  ring;  and  here  the  letter, 

To  tell  her  that  her  vengeance,  too,  is  ripe. 

The  blow  shall  come  from  her;  but  mine's  the  hand 

That  guides  the  dagger's  point  straight  to  his  heart! 

I  cannot  sleep!  I  '11  walk  the  night  away: 

It  is  no  night  for  me — my  day  has  come!  \Exit^  r, 

END    OF    ACT   II. 


ACT    III. 


Scene  I. — A  Room  in  the  Garden-house  of  Galeotto  Manfredi, 
decorated  with  arabesques  i?i  the  style  of  the  earlier  Renaissance 
— Folding  doors  at  the  back,  communicating  with  an  inner  cham- 
berj  side  entrances,  R.  and  l.,  covered  bv  curtains;  a  table,  and 
chairs  of  the  cur ule  form. 

Enter  Fiordelisa, /r<7W  r. 

Fio.  {Pressing  her  hands  to  her  temples^     Where  am  I  ?  , 
What  has  happened  ?     Let  me  think: 
Those  men! — That  blinding  veil — The  fresh  night  air, 
That  struck  upon  my  face.     Then  a  wild  struggle. 
In  strong  and  mastering  arms!      Then  a  long  blank. 
I  must  have  fainted — when  I  woke  I  lay 
On  a  rich  couch  in  that  room.     Has  he  brought  me 
Into  the  very  danger  that  he  said 
He  came  to  take  me  from?     Oh,  cruel!     No, 
Falsehood  could  ne'er  have  found  such  words,  such  looks. 
Father!     Oh,  when  he  comes  and  finds  me  gone! — 
I  must  go  hence!     {Looking  round.)     That  door! — 
[She  runs  to  side  entrance,  L.)  'T  is  locked  f 

{Shaking  door.)  Help!  Help! 

How  dare  they  draw  their  bolts  on  me!     My  father 
Shall  punish  them  for  this!     I  will  go  forth! 

{Shakes  door  again — the  door  opens  from  without.^ 


42  THE   fool's   revenge.  [AcT  III. 

At  last!— 

Whoe'er  you  are,  sir,  help  me  hence! 

Enter  Manfredi,  l. 

Take  me  back  to  my  father!     He  will  bless  you! 
Reward  you  — — 

Man.  Nay,  your  own  lips  must  do  that. 

Fio.     Oh,  they  shall  bless  you  too,  sir 

Man,  To  be  blessed 

With  that  sweet  mouth  were  well — yet  scarce  enough. 

Flo.     Oh,  sir,  we  waste  time.     Set  what  price  5^u  will 
On  the  great  service,  I  am  sure  my  father 
Will  pay  you.  (Manfredi  re-locks  the  door.) 

Man.  If  we  're  to  discuss  your  ransom 

'Twere  fairest  we  should  do  it  with  closed  doors — 
The  terms  can  scarce  be  settled,  till  you  know 
Your  prison,  jailor,  in  what  risk  you  stand. 
First,  for  your  prison — Know  you  where  you  are  ? 

Fio.     No. 

Man.         In  the  Duke  Manfredi 's  palace.     Next, 
Know  you  your  jailer? 

Fio.  Who? 

Man.  Manfredi's  self. 

Fio.     {Wringing  her  hands.)     Woe 's  me! 

Man.  What?     Is  the  news  so  terrible? 

Fio.     I  've  heard  Brigitta,  and  my  father,  too. 
Speak  of  the  Duke  Manfredi. 

Man.     {Aside.)  Here 's  a  chance 

To  hear  a  genuine  judgment  of  myself! 
( To  her)     They  said 

Fio.     That  he  was  cruel,  bold,  unsated 
In  thirst  for  evil  pleasures  : — it  was  odds 
Whether  more  feared  or  hated,  in  Faenza. 
\      Man.  {Aside})  Trust  the  crowd's  garlic  cheers  and  greasy  caps! 
The  knaves  shall  know  me  worse  ere  they  have  done. 
I  thank  you,  pretty  one — I  am  the  Duke! 

Fio.     Then  heaven  have  mercy  on  me! 

Man.  If  report 

Speak  truth,  your  prayer  were  idle! — but  report 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  43 

Is  a  sad  liar.     Do  I  look  the  ogre 
They  painted  to  you  ?     Nay,  my  fluttered  dove, 
Smooth  but  those  ruffled  feathers — look  about  you! 
Is  this  so  grim  a  dungeon  ?     Was  your  couch 
Last  night  so  hard — your  'tendance  so  ungentle? 
I  am  your  prisoner,  fairest — not  you  mine. 
Fio.     Then  let  me  go. 

Man.  Not  till  you  know  at  least 

What  you  will  lose  by  going.     All  Faenza 
Is  mine — and  she  I  favor  may  command 
Whate'er  Faefiza  holds  of  wealth  or  pleasure. 
I  '11  pour  them  at  her  feet — and  after  fling 
Myself  there  too,  to  woo  a  gracious  word! 
What 's  life,  ungraced  by  love  ? — a  dismal  sky 
Without  sun,  moon,  orstarlight!     'Tis  a  cup 
Drained  of  the  wine  that  reddened  in  its  gold! 
A  lute  shorn  of  its  strings — a  table  stripped 
Of  all  its  festal  meats! — mere  life  in  death! 
A  jewel  like  thy  beauty  is  not  meet 
To  be  shut  in  a  chest; — it  should  be  set 
To  shine  in  princely  robes — to  grace  a  crown. 
I  would  set  thee  in  mine.     {Approaching  her.) 

Fio.  Stand  back,  my  lord. 

Man.     Why,  little  fool,  I  would  not  harm  a  hair 
On  thy  fair  head.     Think  what  thy  life  has  been! 
How  dull,  and  dark,  and  dreary!     It  shall  be 
As  bright,  and  glad,  and  sunny,  as  the  prime 
Of  summer  flowers!     Only  repel  not  joy 
Because  it  comes  borne  in  the  hand  of  Love! 

Fio.     Oh,  you  profane  that  name!     Is  love  the  friend 
Of  night,  and  violence  and  robbery  ? 
Let  me  go  hence,  I  say — I  have  a  father 
Who  '11  make  you  terribly  abye  this  wrong, 
Lord  as  you  are! 

Man.  Your  father!     By  the  mass, 

She  makes  me  laugh!     Your  father,  girl!     Bertuccio! 

Fio.     That  I  should  learn  my  father's  name  from  him! 
Yes,  Duke,  my  father! 

Man.  Why,  he  is  my  slave — 


44  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  hi. 

A  thing  that  crouches  to  me  like  my  hound, 

To  beg  for  food,  or  deprecate  the  lash, — 

My  butt— my  whipping-block— my  fool  in  motlev. 

Fio.     It  is  not  true.     This  is  a  lie,  like  all 
That  you  have  said.     Let  me  go  forth,  I  say. 

Man.     You  're  in  my  palace.     Here  are  none  but  those 
To  whom  my  will  is  law;  your  calls  for  help 
Will  only  bring  more  force— if  I  could  stoop 
To  use  force  with  a  lady 

^^^'  Then  you  have 

Some  manhood  in  you.     Look,  sir,  at  us  two. 
You  are  a  duke,  you  say— your  power  but  bounded 
By  your  own  will.     I  am  a  poor  weak  girl, 
E'en  weaker  than  I  knew,  if  what  you  say 
Touching  my  father,  be  the  truth..    What  honor 
Is  to  be  won  on  me  ?     Yet,  won  it  may  be, 
By  yielding  to  my  prayers,  to  be  set  free- 
To  be  sent  home.     Oh,  let  me  but  go  hence 
As  I  came  hither;  I  will  speak  to  none 
Of  this  night's  outrage — even  to  my  father. 

Man.     Ask  anything  but  this. 

^^^'  Nothing  but  this! 

You  have  a  wife,  my  lord,— what  if  she  knew } 

Man.     The  more  need  to  take  care  that  you  tell  her  not! 
Come,  little  one,  give  up  these  swelling  looks. 
Though  they  become  you  mightily.  {Approaching  her) 

^io.  Stand  off! 

(He  pursues  her,  she  flies)     Help!     Help! 
{Running  to  the  c.  door)  A  door!  ha! 

{She  forces  it  open,  rushes  in  a7id  closes  it  violently.) 

Man.   {Locking  it  outside)  Deeper  in  the  toils! 

{Laughs)     The  lamb  seeks  shelter  in  the  wolf's  own  den! 

Tor.   {At  \..  door,  outside)     My  lord! 

Man.  {Unlocks  the  door)    Torelli's  voice!    How  now,  Torelli ? 

Enter  Torelli,  l. 

Tor.     My  lord,  the  duchess  is  returned. 
Man.  Why,  man, 

Thy  news  is  stale;  the  duchess  has  been  here 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  45 

These  five  hours  ;  she  arrived,  post  haste,  ere  sunrise. 
She  must  have  ridden  in  the  dark.     'Twas  that 
Prevented  me  from  making  earlier  matins 
Before  my  little  saint  here. 

Tor.  Do  you  know 

What  brought  the  duchess  back  so  suddenly  ? 

Man.     Some  jealous  fancy  pricked  her,  as  I  judge 
From  her  accost  when  we  encountered  first ; 
And,  as  I  gathered,  she  suspects  contrivance 
Betwixt  me  and  the  Countess  Malatesta. 
'Twas  a  relief,  for  once,  that  I  could  twit  her 
With  groundless  fears.     I  told  her  Malatesta 
Rode  yesterday  with  his  lady  to  Cesena, 
And,  for  more  proof,  repeated  what  he  said. 
That  on  my  wife's  least  summons,  she  'd  return ; 
So  she  has  summoned  her,  in  hopes,  no  doubt, 
To  catch  me  in  a  lie.     Her  messenger 
Rode  to  Cesena  just  at  daybreak.     Soon 
We  may  look  for  him  back,  bringing,  I  hope, 
Ginevra  Malatesta. 

Tor.  This  is  rare. 

So  falls  she  off  the  scent,  and  leaves  you  here 
To  follow  up  your^game  with  Fiordelisa. 

Man.     Even  so:  I  excused  me  from  her  presence 
By  work  of  st-ate,  for  which  to  this  pavilion 
I  had  summoned  you  and  the  Envoy  of  Florence — 
Staid  work  of  state,  being  no  less  a  one 
Than  to  lend  me  your  presences  at  the  banquet 
I  mean  to  offer  our  fair  prisoner. 
Bid  Ordelaffi  and  Ascolti  hither, 

Aud  send  my  men  with  fruits,  and  wines,  and  sweetmeats, — 
All  that  is  likeliest  to  tempt  the  sense 
Of  this  scared  bird. 

Tor.  How  did  you  find  her,  sir? 

Man.     Beating  her  pretty  wings  against  the  bars; 
Still  calling  for  her  father.     Shrewdly  minded 
To  peck,  instead  of  kissing,  silly  fledgeling! 
But  I  will  tame  her  yet,  till  she  shall  come 
To  perch  upon  my  finger. 


4^  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  III. 

Tor.  Where  is  she  ? 

Man.     In  the  inner  room,  whither  she  fled  but  now. 
Fear  not— I  turned  the  key  on  her;  she  's  safe. 

Tor.     I  '11  send  what  you  command,  and  warn  the  rest 
That  you  attend  them.     Good  speed  to  your  wooing. 

{Exit  ToRELLi,  by  entrance,  l. 

Man.     Now  for  my  prisoner!      By  gentle  means 
To  gain  her  ear.     Asmodeus,  tip  my  tongue 

With  love's  persuasion.  {Exit  into  inner  room,  c. 

Enter  the  Duchess  Francesca,  masked,  and  Bertuccio,  who  has 

resui?ied  his  fool's  dress,  R. 

Era.   (  Unmasking.)     Was  't  not  Torelli  went  hence,  even  now  ? 

£er.     By  the  great  walk  ?     I  think  it  was.     Be  sure 
He  saw  us  not  in  the  pleached  laurel  alley. 

Era.     Then  you  still  bear  me  out,  my  husband  lies  ? 
That  Malatesta's  wife  has  not  gone  hence  ? 

Eer.     Trust  a  fool's  eyes  before  a  husband's  tongue. 
I  say  again,  I  was  at  hand  last  night 
When  your  lord  bore  from  Malatesta's  house 
Said  Malatesta's  wife.     I  saw  the  deed. 
I  heard  the  order  given  to  bring  her  hither. 

Era.     Then  'twas  by  force,  not  by  the  lady  s  will, 
She  came?  * 

Ber.     Force?     Quotha— force!     How  many  ladies 
Have  had  to  bless  the  "  force  "  that  saved  their  tongue 
An  awkward  "  yes."     See  you  not  what  an  answer 
"  Force  "  finds  for  all  ?     It  stops  a  husband's  mouth; 
Crams  its  fist  down  the  town's  throat;  nay,  at  a  pinch, 
Perks  its  sufficient  self  in  a  wife's  face; — 
Commend  me  still  to  "force."     It  saves  more  credits 
Than  e'er  it  ruined  virtues.     After  folly,  • 

I  hold  force  the  best  mask  that  wit  has  found 
To  mock  the  world  with! 

Era.  There 's  weight  in  that. 

This  violence  would  stand  her  in  good  stead. 
Were  she  e'er  called  in  question!     Then  what  matter, 

(Bertuccio,  who  has  been  moving  round  the   room,  stops  opposite 
centre  d/ior  \ 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  47 

So  I  be  wronged,  if  'tis  by  force  or  will. 
Would  I  had  certain  proof! 

Ber.  Ha!     You  want  proof  ? 

Come  here —  {The  Duchess  approaches  htm,) 

Stand  where  I  stand.     Now  listen — close. 

Fra.  {Listening  at  door.)     My  husband's  voice  in  passionate 
entreaty! 

Ber.     Only  his  voice  ? 

Fra.  {Starting.)     An  answering  voice! — a  woman's! 
These  are  your  state  affairs,  my  gracious  duke! 

Ber.     If  you  would  have  more  proof,  I  '11  bring  you  where 
You  shall  hear  his  humble  tools  in  last  night's  business 
Discuss  the  deed — all  noble  gentlemen, 
Who  'd  pluck  my  hood  about  my  ears  if  I 
Durst  hint  a  doubt  of  their  veracity. 

Fra.     Do  so — and  if  they  bear  thy  story  out 
I  know  my  part.  • 

Ber.  What,  tears  ? 

Fra.  Tears  ?     Death  to  both. 

Ber.     Take  care.     His  guards  are  faithful.     Can  you  trust 
A  hand  to  do  the  deed  ? 

Fra.  I  trust  my  own. 

Ber.     Women  turn  pale  at  blood.     Your  heart  may  fail  you. 
When  the  time  comes  to  strike. 

Fra.  Daggers  for  men. 

I  know  a  surer  weapon. 

Ber.  {Creeping  up  to  her  and  whispering.)     Poison? 

Fra.  {Putting  her  finger  on  her  lip.)     Hush! 
The  Borgia's  physician  gave  it  me! 
It  may  be  trusted! 

Ber.  {Withdrawing^  aside.)     My  she  leopard's  loosed! 

[Exit  Bertuccio,  l. 

Fra.   {Still  at  the  door,  c,  listening.) 
Past  doubt,  a  woman's  tongue!     And  now  my  husband's! 
How  well  I  know  the  soft,  smooth,  pleading  voice — 
The  voice  that  drew  my  young  heart  to  my  lips 
When,  at  my  father's  court,  I  plighted  troth 
To  him — and  he  to  me!     Oh,  bitterness! 
Now  spurned  for  each  new  leman  of  the  hour! 


48  THE    fool's   revenge.  [AcT  III. 

Oh,  he  shall  learn  how  terrible  is  hate 

That  grows  of  love  abused,     {^Taking  a  phial  from  her  bosom.) 

Come,  bosom  friend, 

That  hast  lain  cold,  'of  late,  against  my  heart — 

As  if  to  whisper  to  it — "  Be  thou  stone. 

When  the  time  calls  for  ?ne.''*  [Looking  at  the  phial.) 

Each  drop's  a  death! 

What  matter  who  she  be  ?     Enough  for  me 

That  she  usurps  the  place  that  should  be  mine 

In  Galeotto's  love!     Hark!  some  one  comes. 

{She  co7iceals  the  phial ^  and  resumes  her  mask.) 
Mnter  two  Chamberlains  with  white  wands  ^  "l.,  followed  by  Attend- 
ants bearing  a  banquet^  and  pass  into  the  inner  room — After 
them  a  Page  with  wine  in  a  golden  flagon — goblets,  fruit,  d^c, 
on  a  salver — She  stops  him  as  he  is  going  through  the  folding 
doors. 
Hold,  sir;  set  down  your  charge. 

Page.  By  your  leave,  madam: 

'Tis  for  my  lord. 

Fra.  Since  when  was  that  an  answer 

To  give  thy  lady  ?  {Removes  her  mask.) 

Page.     {Aside.)     'Tis  the  Duchess!  {Respectfully.)    Pardon, — 
I  knew  you  not. 

Fra.  Enough,  sir — set  it  down. 

And  wait  without  till  I  bid  thee  bear  in. 

[Exit  Page,  l.,  after placi?7g  the  salver  on  the  table. 
What  need  of  further  proof  ?  Is 't  heaven  or  hell 
That  sends  this  apt  occasion  ?     Galeotto, 
I  warned  thee  in  the  spring-time  of  our  loves, 
This  hand  could  kill  as  easy  as  caress; 
You  laughed,  and  took  it  in  your  ampler  palm. 
And  said  that  death  were  pleasant  from  such  white 
And  taper  fingers.     Try  it  now! 

{She  pours  some   of  the   contents   of  the  phial  into  the  flagons  of 

wine.) 
'Tis  done! 
Re-enter  Bertuccio,  l.,  hastily. 
Ber.     Hide,  here,  Madonna:  here  their  lordships  come! 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  49 

I  met  them,  on  the  way — so  brave  and  merry — 
My  gossip  Galeotto  bids  them  here, 

To  feast  with  him  and  her!  {Exit  Bertuccio  l. 

(Francesca  starts  as  if  stung — then  goes  to  the  door  and  beckons?) 
Re-enter,  Page,  l. — She  signs  to  him — He  bears  in  the  wine. 
Fra.     {Aside.)  Their  doom  is  sealed! 

{She  retires  behind  curtained  entrance,  r.) 

Re-enter  Bertuccio,  with  Ascolti  and  Ordelaffi,  l. 

Ber.     It  is  your  due; — you  that  go  out  bat-fowling 
Lack  wine  o'  mornings  to  keep  up  your  hearts. 

Ord.     Why,  thou  wert  there,  knave;  yet  try  thou  to  enter 
Into  the  presence,  and  they  '11  whip  thee  back; — 
His  highness  wants  no  fool  to-day! 

Ber.  That 's  true—  / 

With  you  two  for  his  company.     But  tell  me, 
How  will  the  lady  relish,  o'er  her  wine, 
The  cut-throat  faces  that  she  saw  last  night  ? 
Methinks  'twill  mar  her  appetite. 

Asc.  Be  sure 

She  will  not  look  so  scared  at  us, 
As  thou  would'st  at  the  sight  of  her. 

Ber.  Who— I  ? 

Nay,  I  but  held  the  ladder;  we,  poor  knaves. 
Must  take  the  leavings  of  your  rogueries. 
As  of  your  feasts;  but  prythee,  Ordelaffi, 
How  looked  she  in  her  night-rail  ? 

Ord.  Would'st  believe  it  ? 

Methought  she  had  a  something  of  thy  favor; 
As,  ^  so  crook'd  a  thing  could  have  a  daughter, 
Thy  daughter  might  have  had.     {All  laugh — Bertuccio  starts.) 

Asc.  How  now  ?     He  winces. 

There  cannot,  sure,  be  issue  of  thy  loins! 
Nature's  too  merciful;  she  broke  the  mould 
When  she  turned  thee  out! 

Ber.  Nature,  sir,  proportions 

Her  witty  fools  to  her  dull  ones;  while  she  makes 
Ascoltis,  she  must  needs  produce  Bertuccios 
To  sting  their  hard  hides  now  and  then.     But  tell  me. 


5°  THE  fool's  revenge.  [AcT  III. 

Think  you  Ginevra  needed  all  that  force  ? 

Ord,     She  struggled  stoutly;    but  a  lady's  struggles, 
I  take  it,  are  much  like  her  "  no  "—which  often 
Must  be  read  "  yes." 

^•^^-  Let 's  in,  at  once,  my  lords. 

Ber.     I  '11  marshal  you  ;  who  said  that  cap  and  bells 
Should  be  shut  out  ? 

^>f^-  Stand  back,  Sir  Fool,  'twere  best; 

You  may  repent  your  pressing  on  too  far. 

Ber.     I  fain  would  see  the  lady — 'tis  not  often 
That  one  can  carry  a  beauty  off  at  night, 
And  make  her  laugh  i'  the  morning. 

Ord.  Neither  she 

Nor  you,  I  think,  are  likely  to  breed  much  n;iirth 
Out  of  each  other. 

Ber.  Say  you  so  ?     Here  goes! 

{^He  runs  up  to  the  door — A  Page  opens  it  and  motions  him  back,  two 

Chamberlains  appearing  at  the  open  door.) 
Why,  how  now,  sirrah?     I  'm  the  fool! 

Page.  Stand  back! 

Ber.     I! — why  I  'm  free  o'  the  palace — every  place 
Except  the  council  chamber,  and  in  that 
I  sit  by  proxy! 

Page.  'Tis  the  Duke's  strict  order 

You  enter  not  this  room.    (Bertuccio  is  pressing  forward.)  Back! 

or  the  grooms 
Shall  score  thy  hunch  to  motley.  [He  closes  the  door.) 

Asc.  How  now,  sirrah; 

Call  you  this  marshalling  ? 

Ber.  I  am  right  served  I 

I  forgot  that  fools  in  silks  should  take  precedence 
Of  fools  in  motley!     Lead  the  way,  my  lords! 

Ord.     Look,  here  comes  Malatesta.     ' 

Ber.  Ha! — but  stay 

To  hear  me  gird  at  him!     You  call  me  bitter; 
Now  you  shall  see  how  merciful  I  have  been. 

Asc.     Waste  not  your  ears  on  him — the  Duke  awaits  us 
Beside  his  beauty — metal  more  attractive 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  5^ 

Than  this  curst  word-catcher. 

Qrd.  Aye,  aye— let 's  in. 

[Exeunt  Ordelaffi  and  Ascolti. 

Bertuccio  goes  hastily  to  k.  etitrance — Enter  Francesca. 

Ber.     Now,  now.  Madonna — have  you  proof  enough  ? 

Era.     Mountains  of  proof  on  proof — if  proof  were  needed; 
But  had  disproof  come  with  them,  and  not  proof, 
'Tis  all  too  late. 

Ber.  How? 

Era.  '  I  have  drugged  their  wine— - 

They  will  sleep  sound  to-night.  {She  retires  up) 

Ber.  {Aside)  Choose  woman's  hands, 

You  that  would  have  grim  work  nimbly  despatched! 
Here 's  Malatesta!     Looking  black  as  night. 
So,  Lord,  I  hope  you  liked  your  waking  news! 
Now — now — to  gloat  over  his  agony! 

Enter  Malatesta,  l. 

Mai.  {Not  seeing  the  Duchess)    Ha— knave — I  'd  see  the  Duch- 
ess. 

Ber.  {Looking  at  him  curiously)  Marvelous  ! 

Mai.     How  now  ? 

Ber.                         To  think — that  they  can  make  such  caps 
To  hide  all  trace  of  them 

Mai.  Of  what,  knave  ? 

Ber.  Horns 

Mai.     Rascal! 

Ber.  I  hope  your  lordship  had  good  rest  ? 

And  that  my  lady,  too,  slept  undisturbed. 

Mai.     What  mean  you,  sirrah  ?  \ 

Ber.  Nay,  strain  not  so  hard 

To  keep  it  down;  you  are  among  friends  here. 
A  grievous  loss,  no  doubt — But  at  your  age 
You  could  scarce  look  to  keep  her  to  yourself; 
Others  have  lost  wives,  too' — poor  knaves  who  thought 
To  stick  in  tkeir  thrum  caps  jewels  that  caught 
The  eyes  of  nobles — needs  were  they  must  yield 
Daughters — or  wives 


52  THE  fool's  revenge.  [ACT  III. 

Mai.     Art  mad,  or  drunk,  or  both? 

My  errand  's  to  thy  mistress — not  to  thee. 

Where  is  she  ? 

Fra.   {Coming  down.)     Here,  my  lord!     {They  talk  apart.) 
Ber.  He  bears  it  bravely.         • 

But  wounds  will  bleed  under  an  iron  corslet: 

And  how  his  must  be  bleeding!     For  he  loved  her — 

The  whole  Court  vouches  it — as  old  men  love: 

Husbanding  their  spent  fires  into  a  heat, 

The  fiercer  that  it  has  short  time  to  burn. 

Francesca  and  Malatesta  cojne  forward. 

Fra.     You  say  your  lady  slept  not  here,  last  night, 
But  at  Cesena  ? 

Mai.  Or  the  devil 's  in  't. 

I  saw  her  safe  bestowed  there:  I  can  trust 
My  own  eyes — or  still  better,  my  own  bolts. 

Ber.   {Amazed  and  aside.)  .    Is  this  old  man,  too,  of  Manf redi's 
council. 
To  cheat  his  wife  ? 

Mai.     I  little  thought  to  bring  her  back  so  soon, 
But,  on  your  summons,  I  have  straight  recalled  her. 

Ber.  {Breaking  ^n  eagerly.)    And  she  is  here;  hold  him  to  that, 
Madonna. 

Mai.     Malapert  dog! 

Fra.  Pardon  his  licensed  tongue. 

I  fain  would  see  the  lady. 

Mai.  {Bowing.)     You  shall  see  her; 
I  have  not  far  to  fetc.h  her.  [Exit  l. 

Ber.   {Furiously.)  'Tis  a  lie! 

A  cursed  lie! — to  hide  his  own  foul  shame! 
Believe  him  not! 

Fra.  But  if  he  bring  the  lady  ? 

Ber.   {Laughing.)     Aye,  if  he  bring  the  lady,  then  believe  him! 
{Aside.)     He  robs  me  of  my  right — taking  his  wrong 
With  outward  show  of  calm.     Mine  turned  my  brain: 
I  looked  to  see  him  mad — or  drive  him  so! 

Man.  {  Withift,)     More  wine,  knave! 


•Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  53 

Enter  a  V kgy.  from  c.  door^  passes  out  L. 

Fra.     Ginevra,  or  another,  what  of  that  ? 
The  wrong 's  the  same — why  not  the  same  revenge  ? 

Ber.     The  same  to  you,  but  not  the  same  to  me! 
I  tell  you  Malatesta's  wife  sits  yonder — 
Sits  at  your  husband's  side;  I  saw  her — I — 
Borne  off  last  night!     I  saw.     There  is  no  faith 
In  eyes,  or  ears,  or  truth,  if  'twere  not  she! 

Re-enter   Malatesta,    l.,    with   Ginevra — Bertuccio's    back   is 
towards  the  door, 

Mai.     Madam,  my  wife! 

Ber.   [Turnijig  in  amaze.)     Ginevra  here!  then  who 
Was  that  they  carried  from  her  bed  last  night  ? 
Who  is  't  sits  yonder? 

Fra.  Tell  me,  gracious  lady, 

Where  did  you  sleep  last  night  ? 

Gin.  Where  I  scarce  thought 

To  leave  so  soon,  your  highness;  in  Cesena, 
Within  my  husband's  castle. 

Fra.  Pardon,  madam, 

That  I  have  set  you  on  a  hurried  journey, 
■Still  more  that  /  have  wronged  you  in  my  thoughts! 

(Passing  her  ha?id  over  her  brow — laughter  heard  within^ 
(Aside.)     They  laugh  !     Laugh  on,  my  lord,  while  it  is  time.  • 

Gin.     Wil't  please  you  grant  me  audience;  you  shall  hear 
To  the  minute  how  my  hours  went  yesterday, 
Down  to  this  moment. 

Fra.  Come  out  in  the  air;' 

I  stifle  within  hearing  of  their  mirth. 

{To  Bertuccio.)     Stay  here,  see  that  the  other  'scape  me  not. 

\Exit  Francesca  and  Ginevra,  l. 

Ber.     The  other!     Not  Ginevra?     (T^  Malatesta.)      Good, 
my  lord, 
Your  wife  slept  at  Cesena,  yet  her  chamber 
Was  not  untenanted  last  night,  I  '11  swear! 

Mai.     And  so  thou  might'st,  yet  break  no  oath. 

Ber.     Who  slept  in  't  ? 


54  THE  fool's  revenge.  [Act  iir. 

Mai.     I  know  not.     Ask  Dell'  Aquila;   'twas  he 
Brought  me  the  lady;  craving  shelter  for  her 
From  some  great  danger. 

Ber.  But  you  saw  her  face  ? 

Mai.     And  if  I  did — think'st  thou  I  'd  trust  her  name 
To  thy  ass-ears  ?  [Exit  Malatesta,  l. 

Ber.  Fooled — mocked  of  my  revenge! 

The  sweetest  morsel  on  't  whipt  from  my  teeth! 
Oh,  I  could  brain  myself  with  my  own  bauble! 

Enter  Dell'  Aquila,  l. 

{Aside.)     Deir  Aquila.     Jle  knows. 

Aqu.  Well  met,  Bertuccio; 

I  've  sought  thee  since  this  morning,  nay,  since  midnight. 

Ber.     Ha! 

Aqu.  For  a  matter  much  concerns  thy  peace. 

Thou  hast  a  daughter.  (Bertuccio  starts.)  How  I  know  thou  hast 
Matters  not  to  my  story. 

Ber.     (Hastily)     Hush — hush — hush! 
If  you  know  this,  as  you  are  a  Christian  man, 
And  poet — poets  should  have  softer  hearts 
Than  courts  and  camps  breed  now-a-days — Oh,  keep 
The  knowledge  to  yourself! 

Aqu.  It  is  too  late. 

Torelli  knew  it — had  set  wolfish  eyes 
On  her 

Ber,  Well  ?  well  ? 

Aqu.  Had  rung  her  beauty's  praise 

Here  in  the  court.     Thou  hast  no  friends  here. 

Ber.  {Eagerly)  Well? 

Aqu.     They  plotted  how  to  lure  thee  from  the  house:. 
And,  in  thy  absence,  to  surprise  her  window, 
And  bear  her  off!     They  bound  me  by  an  oath 
To  keep  it  secret  from  thee — not  from  her; 
I  swore  to  save  her  or  to  lose  myself. 
So  I  found  a  desperate  means  of  speech  with  her,- 
And  warned  her  of  her  danger. 

Ber.  Thanks — thanks — thanks! 

But  only  warned  her! 


Scene  l]  the  fool's  revenge.  55 

Aqu.  Placed  her,  too,  in  safety. 

Ber.     Oh,  heaven !  where  ? 

Aqu.  In  the  house  of  Malatesta. 

Ber.  {Hoarsely.)     My  child  in  Malatesta's  house  last  night  ? 

Aqu.     Secure — even  in  the  Countess's  own  chamber! 

Ber.     {With  a  wild  cry?)       My  child!    my    child!   wronged! 
murdered! 

Aqu.     HaJ  by  whom! 

Ber.  {Wildly?)    By  me!  by  me!     Her  father — her  own  father! 
That  would  have  grasped  heaven's  vengeance,  and  have  drawn 
The  bolt  on  my  own  head,  and  her's — and  her's. 

Aqu.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Ber.  I  counselled  the  undoing 

Of  Malatesta's  wife — I  stood  and  watched, 
And  laughed  for  joy,  and  held  the  ladder  for  them, 
And  all  the  while  'twas  my  own  innocent  child! 
Look  not  so  scared — 'tis  true — I  am  not^mad! 
She 's  here — now — in  their  clutches!  (.Laughter  within?) 

Hark — they  laugh! 
'Tis  the  hyenas  o'er  their  prey — my  child! — 
And  I  stand  here  and  cannot  lift  a  hand! 

Aqu.     Here 's  mine,  and  my  sword,  too! 

Ber.  Oh,  what  were  that 

Against  their  felon  blades  ? 

Aqu.  True — true!  what  aid  ? 

Ha!  there's  the  duchess! 

Ber.  {Shrieks.)  I  had  forgotten  her! 

{Drawing  Aquila  to  him  and  whispering  hoarsely?) 
Man — she  has  drugged  their  wine — the  bony  Death 
Plays  cupbearer  to  them;  if  she  drinks,  she  dies! 

Enter  a  Page  with  ivine^  L. 

Look — look.     Perchance,  that  is  the  very  wine! 

{He  runs  between  the  Page  and  the  door,  and  assumes  the  Fool's 

manner.) 

Halt  there!  for  the  fool's  toll.     No  wine  goes  in 
But  pays  the  fool's  toll. 


56'  THE  fool's  revenge.  [AcT  III. 

Page.  Out  knave — stand  aside — 

(Bektuccio  snatches  the  flagons  from  the  salver^ 
Ber.     'Tis  forfeit  by  the  law! 
(  The  Page  tries  to  recover  the  wine — in  the  struggle  Bertuccio  pre- 
tends to  upset  the  flagons  by  accident^  and  the  wine  is  poured  out 
on  the  stage.) 
Page,  Thy  back  shall  bleed 

To  make  it  up.     Now  must  I  go  fetch  more — 
And  brook  the  cellarer's  chiding  for  thy  folly. 

Enter  Torelli,  l. 

Ber,     (7^  Aquila.)  If  he  goes  in— could  we  but  enter  with 
him. 
A  word  of  mine  might  save  her  from  the  poison. 

(Bertuccio  ^^/j  between  him  and  the  door,) 

Tor.     Good  day,  sir  poet — stand  aside,  sir  fool. 

Ber.     You  are  going^n  ? 

Tor.  Aye! 

Ber.  There 's  a  shrewd  hiatus 

Needs  filling  at  the  table.     You  have  War 
And  Love,  but,  lacking  Poetry  and  Folly,        j 
War  is  but  butchery,  and  Love  goes  lame. 
Tuck  us  beneath  your  wings,  sweet  Baldassare, 
And  you  '11  be  trebly  welcome! 

(Seizing  him  by  o?ie  arm^  and  motioning  Dell'  Aquila  to  take  the 
other.) 

Tor.     The  duke  for  once  has  shut  his  doors  against 
Both  Poetry  and  Folly.     He  is  cloistered 
For  grave  affairs. 

Ber.  Tush — tell  me  not,  sweet  gossip. 

Why,  man — /  know  that  there 's  a  petticoat — 
And  more,  I  know  the  wearer. 

Tor.  Thou! 

Ber.  You  *ve  lost 

The  rarest  sport.     Ascolti  and  Ordelaffi 
Have  had  their  will  of  me.     For  once  I  '11  own 
You  've  turned  the  tables  fairly  on  the  fool!  ; 

That  our  Ginevra  should  be  Fiordelisa, 
And  poor  Bertuccio  not  know!     Ha,  ha! 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  57 

Oh,  excellent!     It  was  a  sleight  of  hand 
I  shall  remember  to  my  dying  day! 

Tor.     Nay,  an'  thou  tak'st  it  so 

Ber.  How  should  I  take  it  ? 

Besides  the  pleasantness  of  it  there 's  the  honor. 
Think,  my  poor  daughter  in  the  duke's  high  favor. 
Why,  there  are  counts  by  scores  had  pawned  their  scutcheons 
To  come  into  such  grace.     I  warrant  now. 
You  thought  I  'd  swear,  and  storm,  and  rend  you  all. 
So  shut  me  out.     But,  lo  you,  I  am  merry, 
And  so  shall  she  be,  if  you  '11  let  me  in! 
But  let  me  in — I  '11  school  the  silly  wench — 
Teach  her  what  honor  she  has  come  to—  thank 
The  gracious  duke,  and  play  the  merriest  antics. 
You  '11  swear  you  never  saw  me  in  such  fooling — 
But  take  me  in. 

Tor.  Why  now;  the  fool's  grown  wise! 

I  '11  tell  the  duke — perchance  he  '11  let  thee  in.    \^Exit  Torelli,  c. 
(Bertuccio,    exhausted  by    his   emotions,  falls    into   a   chair,  and 
writhes  convulsively^ 

Aqu.     Lives  hang  on  minutes  here.     Said  you  the  duchess 
Had  mixed  the  poison — or  but  meant  to  mix  it? 

Ber.     There  it  is,  man — I  know  not  which.     Ev'n  now 
Death  may  be  busy  at  her  lips.     Once  in. 
In  my  mad  antics  I  might  spurn  the  board, 
And  spill  the  flagons  as  I  did  e'en  now; — 
But  here  I'm  helpless.     Oh,  Beelzebub! 
Inspire  them  with  desire  to  see  a  father 
Make  laughter  of  the  undoing  of  his  child! 
Ha!  some  one  comes.     They'll  let  me  in!  (c.  door  opens.) 

Tor.   {At  the  door.)  The  duke 

Will  none  of  thy  ape's  tricks. 

{He   retires,   closing   the   door — Bertuccio  wrings   his   hands  and 
screams?) 
Aqu.   {Rushing  forward)     What  ho!     Torelli! 
And  you  within,  you,  my  lord  duke, 'fore  all! 
I  do  proclaim  you  cowards,  ruffians,  beasts! 
Come  out,  if  you  be  men,  and  drive  my  challenge 
Back  in  my  throat,  if  you've  one  heart  among  you! 


5^  THE    fool's    revenge.  [AcT   III. 

Ber,     You  speak  to  men — they  're  fiends. 
Aqu.                                                               No  hope,  no  hope! 
Yes!  here's  the  duchess,  she's  a  woman  still 

Enter  Francesca  and  Ginevra,  l. 
Ber.     Madam,  and   you,  too — i^To  Ginevra) — plotting  your 
undoing, 
I've  compassed  the  destruction  of  my  child, 
The  daughter  that  I  loved  more  than  my  life. 
*Twas  she  they  seized  last  night,  and  she  's  in  there. 

(Pointing  to  c.  door.) 
Fra.     Your  child  ? 

Ber.  From  death,  if  not  wrong  worse  than  death, 

You  still  may  save  her.     Have  the  doors  burst  open. 
You  can  command  here — next  the  duke.     If  not. 
At  least  {Aside  to  her)  forbear  the  poison! 

Fra.  {Aside  to  him.)  'Tis  too  late. 

The  wine  was  here! 

Ber.  Then  this  alone  remains. 

{He  rushes  up  to  the  door  and  shouts^ 
Come  forth,  my  lords  !     The  duke's  life — all  your  lives 
Hang  by  a  thread!     Come  forth — all!     For  your  lives! 

ToRELLi,  AscoLTi  and  Ordelaffi  appear  at  the  door. 
Your  wine  is  poisoned! 

Tor.  Ha!     Who  did  the  deed  ? 

Ber.     I! — drink  not — for  your  lives! 

{They  are  rushing  upon  him^  drawing  their  swords.) 
Fra.     He  lies!     'Twas  I!  {A  shriek  is  heard  within.) 

Ber.     My  child!  my  child! 

Tor.   { Who  has  turned  back  at  the  sound,  flinging  the  door  wide 
open?)     Look  to  the  duke,  m)^  lords! 

As  the  doors  are  flung  open,  the  interior  of  the  inner  room  is  seen 
with  the  Duke  senseless  on  his  seat,  and  Fiordelisa  lying  at 
his  feet —To^YAAA,  Ascolti,  ^;?^  Ordelaffi  support  the  Duke 
— Bertuccio  and  Dell'  Aquila  rush  up  to  Fiordelisa. 
Ber.     Too  late!  too  late! 
Tor.  He's  dead! 

Fio.  Before  all  men, 

I'll  answer  this! 


Scene  i.]  the  fool's  revenge.  59 

Ber.  Before  heaven's  judgment  seat, 

How  shall  I  answer  this  ?  [Pointing  to  Fiordelisa.) 

(Dell'    Aquila   has  brought    Fiordelisa   forward — Bertuccio 
takes  her  in  his  arms.) 

Dead! — dead! — my  bird!  • 

My  lily  flower! — Gone  to  thy  last  account, 
All  sinless  as  thou  wert.     My  fool's  revenge 
Ends  but  in  this!.    Cold!  cold!   {Putting  his  hand  on  her  hearty 

Ha!    Yes!— a  beat! 
{Putting  his  lips  to  her  mouth.)     A  breath!     A  full  deep  breath! 

She  lives!  she  lives! 
Say,  some  of  you,  she  drank  not !   and  I  '11  bless 
The  man  that  says  so — yea,  so  pray  for  him 
As  saints  ne'er  prayed!     She  breathes — still — Hark!  hark! 

Fio.   {Faintly.)     Father! 

Tor.  She  never  drank!     Thou  hast  her  pure  as  when 
She  kissed  thy  lips  last  night! 

Ber.  Oh,  bless  you,  bless  you! 

She  lives — lives — lives  !     Leave  us  to  pray  together. 

Tor.   { To  Francesc a.)  Madam,  you  are  our  prisoner — the  duke 
Lies  foully  murdered. 

Fra.     Ha!  what  call  you  *' foully?" 
Who  but  myself  can  estimate  my  wrongs  ? 
For  those  who  stand,  like  him,  past  reach  of  justice, 
Vengeance  takes  Justice's  sharp  sword. 

Ber.  No,  no! 

Vengeance  is  hellish! — Justice  is  from  heaven! 
Look,  Guido  Malatesta,  I  am  he 
Whose  wife,  long  years  ago,  you  stole  from  him — 
I  am  Antonio  Bordiga! 

Mai.  You  ? 

Ber.     I  thirsted  for  revenge — for  that  I  wrought 
Upon  the  duke  to  carry  off  your  wife — 
Your  innocent  Ginevra  ; — seeking  that, 
See  to  what  verge  of  terrible  disaster 
I  've  brought  my  own  dear  daughter! — seeking  that, 
I  've  compassed  the  duke's  death,  whose  blood  must  lie 
Still  on  my  head! 


6o  THE    fool's    revenge.  [AcT    III. 

Fra.   (Proudly?)     I  take  it  upon  mine! 
My  father,  Giovanni  Bentivoglio, 

Stands  at  your  gates,  in  arms! — Let  .who  will,  question 
Francesca  Bentivoglio  of  this  deed! 

Fio.     Father! — Let's  pray  for  her! 
•   Ber.  For  her! — for  me! 

We  need  it  both!     Ah,  thou  said'st  well,  my  child! 
Vengeance  is  not  man's  attribute — but  heaven's! 
I  have  usurped  it.  {Hiding  his  face  in  her  bosom.) 

Pray — oh,  pray  for  me. 

AscoLTi,  Ordelaffi,  Torelli,  round  the  Duke. 
Mala.       Ginev.       Bert.       Fiord.      Dell'  Aquila.       Fran. 

R.  L. 


the  end. 


^^r-_   '       .9     ^ 


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